


The Killing Game

by kristen999



Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Predator Original Series (1987-1990), Predator Series, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Banter, Blind Character, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Senses, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 02:22:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12973638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristen999/pseuds/kristen999
Summary: New York becomes a hunting ground and the only thing that can prevent further bloodshed is an alliance between The Devil’s of Hell’s Kitchen, Jessica Jones, and The Punisher.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for: language, violence, descriptions of violence 
> 
> Author’s notes: This story takes place in an ambiguous timeline set after The Defenders and The Punisher. No actual spoilers for The Punisher and a small one for The Defenders. This can be read without having seen the shows.
> 
> I spent the last couple of months writing this. Sometimes you must follow the muse into the self indulgence. 
> 
> Thank you to beta readers: Gaelicspirit and to Esteefee for their crit, suggestions, and all the help. You guys rock.

***

It was humid and a light rain fell, water collecting in the folds of Frank’s jacket. The dumpsters in the alley below overflowed with waste from the construction site. A charred electrical smell still lingered in the air from a recent demolition; two city blocks had been marked off for high-rise condos and overpriced shops. 

Frank remembered eating pizza at the corner as boy, but now….

He looked through his riflescope, peering down at his targets from on top a warehouse six stories high. Gangs started using this spot for meetings since it was well hidden from the rest of the city. He’d only waited two hours before five guys showed up; they were close enough he didn’t need night vision. He rested the barrel of his Vanquish along the wall, one hand around the trigger guard, the other adjusting the direction of his microphone boom.

Intel on the weapon’s ring he was tracking was scarce, forcing him to conduct surveillance on those bragging about a recent purchase. 

_“How much for the iron?”_

_“Two Gs.”_

_“Damn, man.”_

_“We need ten more._

Frank checked the sight again; they had Heckler & Koch MP5A3s. He curled his finger around the trigger. 

_“We need to hit back at Bone, man.”_

His left eyebrow twitched. Funny, Bone and his buddies planned on striking these piss-ants tonight. Speaking of….

An old model Honda parked outside the alley, four members of a rival gang exiting, each with more artillery. 

Some piece of shit was arming thugs with hundreds of assault rifles, including suppressed variants. He didn’t care if they killed each other, but the collateral damage from their war was soaring. One of the latest victims of a drive-by had been the homeless vet who recycled cans on Frank’s block.

He was going to put a bullet in the asshole arming both sides of a street war.

Frank swung his scope around, trained it on the backs of the four new targets, wiping away some of the rain running down his face. It would only take ten seconds to pick them all off.

Someone coughed.

“What the hell was that?” one of them shouted.

A few seconds later, the shooting started. 

Hundreds of rounds were expelled in ninety seconds, yet almost everyone was left still standing. Amateurs. This wasn’t a damn video game; it took more effort than pointing and squeezing a trigger. But a bullet could strike a person nine hundred yards away and the odds of one killing a civilian were greater than Frank preferred.

He only needed one person alive to question. Frank adjusted the mil-radius of his scope and aimed at the furthest target. 

_Crack._

One…two…three went down. 

The others scattered, a few of them firing randomly in the air. Frank moved positions and took aim—dropping several more until there was no one left to shoot. 

He studied the scene through his scope; there were maybe six bodies. He needed visual confirmation. The others were either injured or escaped. He started packing up his rifle when he heard a ragged scream – it must have lasted twenty seconds.

Frank had heard plenty of people cry out in agony, this sounded worse. By the time it ended, he heard a second one. Shouldering his rifle, he made his way toward the stairwell door exit to investigate.

***

There were seven bodies, five from his Vanquish, two from a MP5. Three MIA. Frank’s field of vision had been clear despite the drizzle, so the others had evacced into the sprawling industrial site. It could take hours to find anyone given the number of buildings.

His muscles tensed; it felt like he was in the crosshairs of a rifle. Frank turned around, sweeping his gaze in all directions, but he didn’t see anyone. His gut told him to keep moving.

His boots crunched over loose rock as he entered the back of the construction zone. Bulldozers lined outside one side of a building that would be smashed to pieces once it stopped raining. He pulled out the M16 tethered to his gun belt, holding it at ready position.

A heavy scent of minerals hit his nostrils; he knew that odor.

Shoulders bunched, his eyes scanned the darkness while he listened for signs of movement. After several steps, Frank stopped and looked down at a large volume of blood splatter. It was everywhere. 

As he knelt down, Frank noticed a set of drag marks leading further into the dilapidated building. Keeping his weapon trained in front of him, Frank entered the demolition area and followed the blood trail until he found the source.

Two bodies had been flayed open and their heads removed. It was a surreal display of violence. He wasn’t shocked by much anymore; what bothered him was the fact this butchering took place in minutes. Without signs of struggle. 

He swallowed against an onslaught of memories he’d forced out of his head: the man he used to be, images of jungles, flashes of carnage. Decapitations. Gritting his teeth, he shoved it all into the black pit inside him. 

Spinning around, Frank started walking away, but he couldn’t suppress that damn voice in his head that told him he was retreating. Turning his back on a promise he’d once made to the fallen.

He stood, debating with himself when he noticed something _not quite right_ in the dirt. A piece of metal stuck out from the ground from where it was partially buried. Studying the area for risk, he knelt beside the thing and started digging.

***

Matt knew more about guns than he wanted to. Every weapon had a unique sound; it came down to design. The same cartridge in one rifle might not produce the same sounds in another because the gas port could be in a different place, the barrel a different length. AK-47s sounded like a lot of other stamped-steel guns, but the way the gas escaped the barrel, the distinctive sound it made as the bullet went hypersonic, was totally unique from other assault rifles. 

For the last three days the sound of gunfire haunted Matt; shoot-outs during the afternoon, all out battles in the streets at night. The body count had been staggering with no signs of ending.

Matt had stopped several confrontations, saved a family from the crossfire of one intense battle, and put six members of two gangs in the hospital. But this was a bloody war with both sides armed with heavy firepower and no regard for life.

He stood on the roof of his building, deciding which block to investigate in hopes of figuring out the source of the sudden violence between the gangs so he could stop it. The warm drizzle became a heavy rain as atmospheric pressure changed. Maybe the bad weather would prevent another night of bloodshed. 

A volley of gunfire erupted a few blocks away involving at least five people, AK-47s and M6s. Matt released a heavy exhale. _Or maybe not._

Knowing how gunfire echoed between buildings, Matt listened for the sound of empty cartridges hitting cement and the smell of smoke from the chambers. Then he chased after the newest round of violence tearing apart his city.

***

The dry-cleaners and sub shop were shot to pieces, and hundreds of bullet casings littered the street, some of them washing away into the gutters from the pounding rain. But there wasn’t anyone around for Matt to track down, no elevated heartbeats or body heat. At least this wasn’t a residential block. 

He listened for signs of gunshots, wondering what would cause everyone to scatter only a few minutes after a battle began. His feet splashing in the growing puddles, Matt was drawn by a fresh scent of blood, diluted by the rainwater but stemming from the alley. 

The trail of blood grew larger; the sheer volume meant that whoever lost it could no longer be alive. The smell was awful, like someone had rubbed pennies inside Matt’s nose. 

Then the odor became acidic, his chest tightening in recognition of intestines and stomach contents. God, what happened?

His own guts twisted at the sheer stench and horror of it all when he heard a cry of pure terror in the distance.

Pulse pounding, Matt ran toward the location of the screaming.

***

Matt raced over rooftops, keeping to the outer ledges so he could stop and listen. Rain beat down on his helmet, over concrete, buildings, generators, street noise generating bombarding sound waves. 

He searched for higher pitch sounds; the human scream could reach over 100HZ, and the wind and rain could impact that, bending all ambient sounds downward. 

A guttural yell bounced between buildings. 

Breathing hard, Matt followed the sound all the way toward the garment district. Using his baton, he looped the steel cable over a power line and slid down from the eight-story apartment building to the ground. With a flick of his wrist, the cable retracted as his feet pounded down the alley.

He could smell fear: tears and sweat, and the increased adrenaline in the body odor of the guy trying to hide under a dumpster. Matt slowed his pace, searching for threats, but the only heat signature was from the person trying to cram himself beneath the metal container.

Walking down the alleyway, he stopped a few feet from the person. “Sir, what’s the matter?”

But the man was too busy crying to hear him. His bone density and light heart rhythm indicated he was young, maybe sixteen or seventeen. The detergent from his clothes and fresh soap indicated he wasn’t homeless. The teen’s skin didn’t secrete signs of drugs, but his heart rate was dangerously fast.

Matt noticed the M6 clutched between his hands. The cartridge was empty. He lowered to a crouch. “Were you part of the shootout from a few minutes ago?”

Based on the thump, the teen bumped his head on the dumpster, his breath hitching even faster. “What? No…get the hell away from me!” His pulse raced. “You’re…you’re him! El Diablo!”

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Matt kept his distance, still keeping at eye-level. “I’m not going to get closer, I promise,” he said, keeping his tone even. “What’s your name?”

“Nah, y-you…you...can’t help me. That…that demon….I’ve...I’ve _seen_ him.”

The kid was petrified, his breathing harsh and fast. “You’re safe now,” Matt told him. “Come on, how about crawling out of there?”

The teen picked himself off the ground and stood up, grabbing his weapon, but he didn’t point it at Matt.

“What’s your name?” Matt asked. 

“Cu…Cuchillo.”

“Knife?”

“Yeah, man. What's it to ya?”

“Nothing. It’s fine.” Matt wondered if he could get Cuchillo to go to the hospital. He was twitchy and sweating profusely. “Do you want me to take you somewhere?”

“There’s nowhere I can go….that thing….” Cuchillo started crying, his body trembling. “He killed Raul, man.”

“Who killed your friend?”

“The demon! Ah, Dios, help me. He shoved a sword through his chest.”

A sword? Matt grit his teeth. Were members of The Hand in the city again? Were they responsible for all this violence? 

But his immediate attention was drawn to the traumatized young man in front of him. “I’m sorry, Cuchillo.”

“What will I tell Raul’s hermana?”

A siren wailed down the street, followed by an ambulance. A police car drove nearby, the radio scanner squawking with several dispatchers about an animal on the loose.

Gripping his rifle to his chest, Cuchillo panicked. “I gotta go.” 

A second car slowed to a stop, and Matt heard someone exit their vehicle and update the dispatcher with their location as they walked toward them.

Cuchillo bolted. 

“Wait!” Matt called instinctively, but didn’t give chase, knowing he needed to get some answers. 

Instead, he climbed up the nearby fire escape to wait for the person walking over. He recognized the familiar heartbeat. 

“Detective,” Matt greeted.

Brett Mahoney swore under his breath. “I really don’t have time for you tonight.”

“Then I won’t waste it.”

“We’re on a verge of a full-scale gang war. Thirty-five dead in the last month, ten in just the last two days. The police chief is going to announce curfews and, worst case scenario, we might call in the National Guard.”

Brett’s shoes scuffed against the ground as he paced.

“And tonight?” Matt pushed. 

“What about it?” Brett growled. 

“I thought you didn’t have time to waste? I just ran into a kid who thinks there’s a demon running around.” Brett made a noise in his throat, but Matt ignored him. “And I think I found the remains of someone in the alley behind the coat factory.”

“You discovered a body and didn’t call it in?”

“No, I found what was _left_ of a body.” Matt swallowed, remembering the bile and blood on the ground. “It was….”

“The stuff that’s supposed to be inside of one?”

“Yeah.” 

Brett started swearing, and Matt dropped down to the ground so he could stand next to him. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, wish to hell I did.” Brett took a heavy breath. “We think there are some wild animals on the loose.”

“What? Like a bunch of homicidal lions?” 

“Look, we don’t know. It’s the only explanation for….” Brett shuddered inside his coat. “We found what looks like signs of several more DBs, minus the bodies. So, I don’t have time for any more chit-chat.”

“Detective–”

“You wanna help?” Brett challenged. “Find out who’s arming a bunch of assholes with military hardware and call me. I’ll bring the whole SWAT team with me.”

“I’ll call you.”

“Yeah, I’ll be waiting on the line holding my breath.”

Brett stormed away, leaving Matt with little to go on. The rain started to let up, which meant it would be easier to track down whomever was out there killing people and stealing their bodies.

 

***

Jessica hated the rain; it screwed up her sinuses and throat. But Trish wanted her to meet up at this bar and it wasn’t like Jessica would turn down a chance to drink. This week had sucked. Her client’s husband was a dirt bag who embezzled from the family company, and some gang-war was making it hazardous to cross the street.

Trish better have taken a cab.

Speaking of taxis, where the hell were they? Jessica stopped for a moment and looked at the street signs. How the hell did she end up so far Southside? She needed to pay attention where her leads took her. Now she’d be late, not that Trish didn’t hedge things by always giving Jess a time to meet and tacking on at least a half an hour extra.

Great, she was ten blocks away from the nearest intersection for cabs. The warehouse district sucked, but it provided embezzling husbands a place to set-up a cheap office for their off-the-books import-export business.

A cold sensation went down her back and Jessica froze, her eyes searching for the source of her apprehension. She listened for movement, trying to ignore a familiar sense of paranoia. 

She heard a high-pitched scream and ran toward it. 

Running behind the warehouse, she almost slipped on some trash. She searched for the source of the disturbance when all the hair on the back of the neck stood on end.

“Okay, asshole, show yourself,” she shouted in the darkness.

“I think we’re chasing the same thing,” a voice came from her right.

Jessica spun around and found the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen staring back at her. “What the hell?”

“I’m sorry,” Matt said, holding up his hands. “I heard you and wanted you to know I was here.”

“Have you’ve been following me?”

“No. I was coming from the other direction. I didn’t know we were in the same area until a minute ago.” He tilted his chin at her. “Why?”

“Nothing.” Jessica did a double check of the alley again out of instinct. “Did you hear that scream?”

“Yeah. It came from behind that building.” Matt gestured at a boarded-up warehouse with the side tagged by recent graffiti. “But there isn’t anyone there now.” He frowned, dropping his gaze at the ground his scowl deepening.

“What?” Because Jessica recognized that expression: it meant he’d zeroed-in on something. 

His nostrils flared his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with a hard swallow. “Something….” Matt started walking.

“Hey, we’ve been through this withholding crap before.” Jessica wasn’t in the mood to deal with his half-truths.

He continued going around the corner of the warehouse, his steps slowing. “Oh, God….”

“What? Damn it, Murdock, start talking.”

She darted to where he stood unmoving, but she couldn’t make out much without light.

“I think….” His chest heaved, his voice shaky. “Jessica?”

Matt sounded scared, and that really grabbed her attention. “What do you see?”

“It doesn’t make sense…it’s…. I can see the fading heat of….” Matt paused. “There are three heads and there's blood all over the ground…but nothing else.”

Jessica squinted that twisted sinking feeling in her stomach growing stronger as she walked toward whatever was freaking out Matt. He started following a few steps behind her. 

“You said nothing else as in….” Jessica let the words die on her lips as she stared at three metal spikes, each with a human head shoved on top of it. “Fuck.”

“Do you see anything…else?” Matt asked.

“Like the rest of a body?”

“Like any clue as to what caused this?”

Jessica was too busy trying not to gag. “Some sick sonofabitch—probably members of the MS-13’s. They like making a statement.”

Cocking his head again, Matt drew his lips together. “The police are nearby. There’s been a lot of strange activity tonight.”

“Ya think?” She pinched her nose closed against the stench.

“I found blood from a murder but not a body about an hour ago; the police think it might have been an animal attack.”

“Yeah, well the animal was human.” Jessica was sick of being reminded of the depravity of the universe. People were shit. 

Matt stared in the direction of the spiked heads. “Can you take some pictures?”

Jessica pulled out her camera from her bag, swallowing down nausea. “We need to call the police.”

“Yeah.” He walked behind the spikes studying the ground.

She wondered how he perceived such a gruesome scene. What did it appear like to him? “It’s hard to snap pics with you photo bombing all of them.” But she’d grabbed enough.

Matt finished inspecting the scene before moving to stand next to her. “Do you think you could call this in anonymously and meet me at my place?”

“I don’t want anything to do with this freak show.”

“The key is above the doorframe if you beat me there.”

“I know where you keep your key stashed, but I’ve got plans and I haven’t agree to–”

Jessica turned around, but Matt had already disappeared, leaving her with something out of a horror movie. “God, you’re such a dick,” she muttered.

 

***

Jessica arrived at Matt’s apartment, still reprimanding herself about getting dragged into whatever nightmare was taking place this time. Alien invasions, ninjas, and now medieval gore. New York was always trying to outdo itself. 

She turned on the lights inside Matt’s place and raided his refrigerator for beer. Gulping down half the bottle of Heineken, she stared at the way stuff inside his fridge was arranged by type, and at the Braille tags on Matt’s various jars and containers.

“What the hell am I doing here?” And shit, she hadn’t even texted Trish.

Putting the empty beer bottle inside the fridge, Jessica headed toward the door when she heard a sound from the roof. Too late. 

Matt came down the loft stairs still dressed in his ridiculous outfit. But he didn’t stop; he started pacing by his sofa, agitated.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“They found another body.”

“And?”

Matt shook his head, his breathing sporadic, his voice tight. “It….” 

He practically ripped away his helmet and tossed it on the table. 

Jessica stepped closer to him. “Hey, take it easy.” 

She’d never seen him this way, even in the face of ninjas and hordes of armed bad guys, Matt never backed down, never showed signs of fear. Jessica rested her hands on top his shoulders. “Breathe. It’s okay.”

“The police…they found a body. Its…its _spine_ was missing.” He cleared his throat. “Who does that? Who mutilates a person?”

“Really horrible people,” Jessica told him. 

She could tell him a dozen different ways Killgrave had brutalized his victims, but that wouldn’t offer much comfort. Instead she touched the side of his jaw, one of the few spots that wasn't covered by body armor. “This is where I’m supposed to tell you that everything’s going to be okay, but we both know I don’t do that, and the world really kind of sucks.”

He laughed, some of the tension bleeding out of shoulders. “Yeah, well, it’s up to us to try to make it better.”

She snorted, dropping her hands to her sides. “Ever the optimist.”

But the exchange seemed to have a grounding effect, and Matt gave her a wan smile before going to his kitchen sink to grab an empty glass. “What do you know about this recent gang war?”

Jessica rolled her eyes. “Just what’s on the news. Some dispute between the Mac Ballers and MS-13’s. Bunch of violent, hot-headed assholes who think high body counts mean good business.” 

“The Mac Ballers, they’re a set of the Bloods gang, right?”

“Yeah, part of the crime-happy hoods that began at Riker’s Island. They own most of the New York drug trade now.”

“MS-13 originated from L.A…. Mostly sex-trafficking and drugs.”

“They took their name from the Salvadoran peasants during a civil war. But they mainly control Brooklyn and Queens.”

“Maybe that’s the dispute, they’re trying to move into Mac Baller territory.” Matt pursed his lips in humor. “You seem to know a lot about gang activity.”

“It’s my job to know about all the crap going on in the streets. But to be honest, the person we should call is Luke. He’d know more about any possible turf disputes.”

But Matt had stopped paying attention. She was about to ask him what was going on when his head snapped in direction of the stairs. Pulling out his baton, he waited at the bottom of the stairwell, his gloved hand tightening around his weapon.

“What is it?” Jessica asked, moving closer to him.

After a moment, Matt lowered his baton and released an annoyed sigh. “What the hell are you doing here?”

A broad-shouldered guy in a black coat came down the stairs from Matt’s roof with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “I don’t think this is about a turf dispute.”

Jessica stared as the guy descended the stairs and walked past Matt into his living room. 

“Who the hell are you?” she demanded.

“Frank.”

Then she recognized his face from the newspapers. “As in Frank Castle?”

Castle ignored her and nodded to Matt. “We need to talk.”

Jessica whipped her head around at Matt, noting how Mr. Secret Identity hadn’t wigged out that The Punisher was inside his apartment. “You really don’t have good judgment about the company you keep.”

“Does that include everyone in the room?” Castle asked. 

“Last I checked I wasn’t a card carrying sociopath.”

Matt slid between them and looked in Castle’s direction. “Whatever you want you can say in front of Jessica. Right now.”

“I’m not a part of your vigilant club,” Jessica growled. 

“I think lot of people are gonna die tonight,” Castle said, glancing from Jessica to Matt. “Figured the only person who might be able help was you. I don’t care who else tags along.”

She was about to tell Castle where he could stick it when Matt interceded. “You have five minutes.”

Jessica didn’t know which of them she wanted to punch. 

***


	2. Chapter Two

***  
Frank’s clothes smelled of dust, cement, and something Matt couldn’t make out, like a metal alloy. Both his hands reeked of gunpowder residue; Matt wondered how many people Frank had shot tonight. 

Pulling out a piece of equipment, Frank placed it on Matt’s kitchen table and started fiddling with something. “Listen.”

_“Dispatch, I’ve got…damn, I’ve got human guts at the corner of 5th and 14th…God.”_

The officer’s voice faded into static as Frank switched channels, the next voice just as frantic.

_“I need back-up at 10th and Queens, I need SWAT down here, we’ve got up to twelve active shooters, I repeat there’s up to twelve suspects….”_

The channel clicked again. _“This is Detective Brett Mahoney requesting back-up at…. Where the hell am I? At 6th and Barker.”_

Matt stepped closer to the radio, a rush of adrenaline flooding his body. “Brett’s a friend of mine.”

“Well, he’s headed where I found a huge blood trail earlier,” Frank said. “Including two guys with their heads chopped off.”

“Yeah? And did you have a hand in that?” Because Matt remembered some of the bodies Frank had left behind, how he’d tortured men to get answers. 

“No, it wasn’t me. I’m going after the asshole arming this gang-war–”

“Congratulations for contributing to the homicide rate,” Jessica snapped. 

“They’ve found at least six mutilated bodies tonight,” Frank growled, the blood flow increasing to his face. “And based on reports, there’s more, except they can’t find enough remains for identification.”

Six or more people had been mutilated tonight?

“That’s just fewer bad guys on the streets,” Matt said, testing Frank’s motives. “Why do you care?

“I don’t. But I want the person responsible.”

“You know who’s committing these slaughters?” Matt demanded. 

“No, but I’ve seen this before.”

“Seen what exactly?” Matt was tired of the runaround. 

“People killed by having their spines ripped out. Their heads displayed as trophies. Sometimes the guy took their eyes or other prizes.”

“Where?” Jessica demanded. Matt knew that tone; she didn’t believe him. 

“During one of my tours. I provided backup during a Search & Rescue, all we found were…pieces.” It was the first time Frank’s voice wavered. He swallowed. “These were Team guys, not your run of the mill grunt.” 

“And you think this is the same person?” Matt had a hard time imagining a serial killer hopping continents. “Right here in New York?”

“Yeah.” Frank stepped into Matt’s personal space. “Even if I’m wrong, that doesn’t stop the fact that whoever’s out there butchering people needs to be stopped.”

Matt wasn’t intimated by Frank and he stepped closer until their boots touched. “And you’re suggesting…?”

Frank chuckled. “An unholy trinity. You, me, and Rocky Balboa over there.”

Jessica’s heart rate jumped as she stomped over. “I’m not helping a monster hunt down another monster.”

“Sometimes that’s what it takes to catch one,” Frank told her.

“We’re going where Brett Mahoney last radioed for back-up.” Matt did his best to glare at Frank. “And we follow my rules, got it?”

“Do you really want to show mercy to something like this?”

“You came to me, remember?” Matt held all the cards for once.

“Yeah, we’ll see if you change your mind.”

Frank moved toward the police scanner and started packing it away.

Taking a moment, Matt touched Jessica’s shoulder and drew her closer. He kept his voice hushed. “Look, I’m asking a lot, but could you…?”

“The last thing I want to do is join you and Johnny the Homicidal Maniac on an evil quest, but I’d be a pretty shitty friend if I let you count on him for back-up.”

Matt released a sigh of relief, taking Jessica’s hand and giving is a small squeeze. “Thank you.”

Jessica pulled her hand away, but not before Matt noted a slight increase in her skin temperature. He suppressed a sigh at the constant mistiming of things.

Frank finished stuffing the police scanner into his duffle and strode toward the hallway leading to Matt’s front door. “So, do you have jacket or something, or do you plan on riding shotgun wearing your devil gear?”

“Oh my God, you are not driving,” Jessica yelled at Frank.

“Fine by me, I’ll just transfer all my firepower into your trunk.”

Matt leaned over and whispered in Jessica’s ear. “You don’t own a car.”

“Yeah, I know that,” she said slapping his shoulder. “Damn it.”

Sighing, Matt went toward his bedroom to find a set of workout clothes that could fit over his suit. 

***

Matt sat in the front seat of Frank’s car, an older model Chevy based on the engine and transmission noise. Matt’s suit shifted against the sweatpants and hoodie as he found a comfortable spot in the sunken cushions. He’d stashed his helmet and batons in the trunk with the rest of Frank’s gear. 

“Is this car stolen?” Matt asked, wondering about the odds of being pulled over.

“No, it’s not, Counselor,” Frank emphasized the last word. “I try not to cross paths with law enforcement.”

Jessica snorted from the backseat. It was the only sound she’d make that wasn’t teeth grinding or muttering her displeasure under her breath, knowing he could hear every word. Matt had wanted a chance to talk to her, but time had been of the essence. He’d make it up to her…somehow. 

While Frank drove them down back ways to avoid all the roads blocks caused by the current violence, Matt listened to the police scanner as officers tried coordinating efforts to combat the shooting. His hand twitched with the need to do something.

“What do you know about this escalation in gang violence?” Matt asked.

“What does it matter?” Frank scoffed. “It’s one group trying to muscle into another’s territory.”

But the rise of gang activity occurred in economically depressed neighborhoods with lack of public funds and support. It wasn’t happenstance. “Because if we can figure out the causes than we can….”

“Do what? Offer them problem solving solutions?”

“Don’t waste your breath, Murdock,” Jessica said. “It’s futile to discuss reason with a psychopath.”

Frank blew out a breath, his head tilting up, presumably to look at Jessica in the rearview mirror. “You’re asking the wrong question.”

“And what’s the right one?” she asked. 

“Who’s profiting from it?”

“The gunrunner you’re after,” Matt said. The wave of bloodshed had been the result of heavy firepower. It was easier to kill people when you could fire a hundred bullets a minute. 

“Yeah. But he’s not our main objective right now.” Frank pulled up into the parking lot on the edge of a giant rebuilding project and turned off the engine. “This is it.”

“Good, let’s get this over with.” Jessica climbed out and slammed the door. 

Matt followed suit, exiting and walking toward the back of the Chevy to get the rest of his stuff. Frank opened the trunk and started pulling out a small arsenal. Bulletproof vest, assault rifle, extra ammo clips. Matt already knew about the Sig at Frank’s side, the Ka-Bar knife, but he raised his eyebrows when he smelled thermite from a few grenades. 

Matt waited to grab his stuff, but he was distracted by an odd wiggle sound, like a sharp electronic emission too fast for him to decipher.

“You’re doing your weird shit again,” Jessica said.

Her voice startled him, which was hard to accomplish. But in that split-second distraction, whatever he thought he’d noticed was gone. Matt cleared his throat. “Sorry, I was just…thinking.”

“Right.” Jessica walked over to Matt while Frank inspected his weapons. “Do you really think this is a good idea? I talked to Luke and he said the Mac Ballers and MS-13’s are seriously scary players. We don’t want to get stuck in the middle of their brawl.” She cleared her throat. “Luke’s finished chasing a lead on a case; he said he can be here in a couple of hours.”

They could use Luke’s help; Danny’s too, if he wasn’t in Tibet chasing something. 

Gunfire erupted in the distance, less than a mile away, from the speed of the sonic booms. There were multiple exchanges of weapons fire. His city was being torn apart. It made Matt feel impotent. Angry.

“Detective Mahoney is a friend of mine,” he told her. Matt was sick of not being able to help others, those he cared about. His mind flashed to Elektra, Stick…. “If he’s been pulled into this, then I want to back him up.”

“You don’t have a lot of friends, do you?” Jessica asked. 

Matt was caught off-guard by the question; it was a sharp slap of reality, enforced by the path he’d chosen in life. “Just the ones who matter.”

Jessica didn’t say a word, her breathing heavier. It made Matt wish he could detect facial expressions. 

The trunk to the car was slammed closed and Frank’s boots crushed the gravel under his feet. “I’m taking point,” he called out and walked away.

***

Matt hadn’t expected such a large construction zone; it encompassed four different buildings, all in various states of rehab. 

“Do you see anyone?” Frank asked.

They were between a six-story warehouse and recently demolished building. All the recent dust and rubble was thick, the density almost overwhelming all other odors. Beside the recent demolition was a half-finished building; it was hard to tell if it was new or old construction. 

Matt shook his head. “Not yet.”

“I can take you where I found the bodies,” Frank said. “If your detective is around, he might be attracting unwanted attention.”

They’d heard Brett on the police scanner an hour ago; he could have come and gone in that amount of time. 

A strong scent of bourbon cut through the haze of dust particles, followed by the bobble of Jessica’s Adam’s apple as she took a few swigs form her flask. She was irritated, her steps heavy as she stomped toward where Frank stood. Frank’s pulse never changed from its steady beat, unlike most people when confronted by Jessica Jones. 

“So, you really think that some guy who offed a bunch of Special Forces members just decided to go to New York and kill some gang members for funsies.” She took another swallow from her flask. “And the best way to track him down is inside some abandoned warehouses?”

“This is a good defensive position to use as a base of operations.” Frank didn’t lash back, his breathing even. “And it’s only half a mile on foot from the other deaths.”

That caught Matt’s attention. “Did you map out all the positions of the mutilations?”

“Do you really think I’d come out here if I didn’t analyze my recon?”

“You’re full of shit,” Jessica told him. 

A heavy silence signaled to Matt that they were both looking at him. While Matt sided with Jessica—Frank’s story really was full of crap—he hadn’t told one lie. But something still bothered Matt. Frank was a strategist; Matt felt like he and Jessica had been maneuvered into place. 

Matt looked in Frank’s direction to ask him challenging questions when Frank beat him to the punch.

“There are hundreds of members in Mac ballers and MS-13’s. Do you think there’s anything you two can do to stop them? It’s going to take a military-type operation to end that shit, but what we’re after?” Matt felt Frank breathing in his direction. “It’ll make you question God a little more than you do.”

There was something in Frank’s voice, something Matt couldn’t pinpoint. His heart rate had increased, but it was a biological response from adrenaline and anger, not….

Five heartbeats were racing like crazy—no eight. Matt heard laughter, and someone whimpering in terror. He took a step toward the construction zone.

The scent of Jessica’s shampoo was a nice distraction from the saturation of scrap metal. Her leather coat creaked when she moved. “What is it?”

“Eight males, all carrying weapons, only three with automatics.” The one whimpering was close to hyperventilating. “I think this is a kidnapping; one of them is very unwilling to come with the others.” Whimpering guy yelled and screamed, his feet kicking up dirt as he dug in his heels. 

“We need to go,” Matt said, not waiting to see if they followed behind him.

***

They neared a half-built structure eight levels high with concrete wall supports and steel columns, girders, and beams. Large equipment lined one side, including a giant crane and a few power generators. Two forklifts were parked beside a wood frame bearing wall on the opposite side. The eight people they were after were using part of the site as cover. 

“No killing,” Matt reminded Frank.

“Love taps only, got it.” 

The whimpering guy—no…teenager—was being forced to his knees, four men in their twenties surrounding him. Three other guys stood a few feet away—probably to stand guard.

“You know why we brought you here? Because no one can hear your pathetic screams.”

“I told you,” the teen whimpered. “I don’t know who whacked your boys.”

“We’re gonna start peeling away your skin.” The Leader flipped open a switchblade knife. “One slice at a time.”

“No, please. It was El Diablo, man! It had a sword.”

Matt recognized that skittering heartbeat and lactic acid and urea from the kid’s sweat glands. It was Cuchillo. 

“Chop his fucking ear off, Kerron.”

Cuchillo released his bladder and peed on himself, the ammonia smell mixing with the odor of adrenaline.

Matt heard the blade of the knife cut through the air and he threw his baton, knocking it out of Kerron’s hand. 

“What the hell?” Kerron seethed.

Seven heartbeats jumped in response, seven weapons rose in his direction.

Frank held his breath before he squeezed the trigger. The first bullet struck Kerron in the shoulder; the second bullet struck the man closest to Cuchillo, who threw himself to the ground.

“Jess,” Matt called out. “I’ll keep the others busy. Could you–”

“Grab the little guy, yeah.”

“God damn it,” Frank cursed. 

It took a second before Matt realized he just placed himself and Jessica in Frank’s line of fire. 

Heavy breathing was like an echo beacon; Matt grabbed his baton from off the ground and separated it into two billy clubs. Two of the gang members started shooting at Jessica. Matt ran toward the closest one and pivoted on his right foot as he swung his left leg around and struck the guy in the head.

Jessica punched the second attacker in the face so hard, two of his vertebrae made a cracking sound as his neck snapped back and he collapsed. She snagged Cuchillo by the hoodie and dragged him away from the fray.

Frank had moved positions, aiming his rifle just as Matt noticed a bizarre heartbeat, a _lub-dub-dub-lub_ that indicated two extra chambers of heart muscle. Matt froze, confused, as he listened to the strange heartbeat coming from above. 

The smell hit him next: organic debris and bacteria. 

“Red, what the hell are you doing?” Frank yelled.

Matt turned his attention to the scaffolding of a long crane; at a large amount of body heat blurring into a figure—it had to be almost seven feet tall and over three hundred pounds. But more unusual than its incredible size was the arthropod-like jawbone and long, hair-like appendages that were set into it skull. 

What the hell was it?

But he didn’t have time to contemplate. “Frank. On top of the crane.”

“What? I don’t see anything.”

Frank couldn’t see it? Matt noted a low-level electric field surrounding it…covering plates of armor. “I think it’s cloaked.”

The figure pulled something from a holster and clutched an object in each hand that started to produce heat. 

“Aim at your eleven o’clock,” Matt yelled. “One-hundred thirty degrees.”

Spinning around, Frank aimed without question. But the heat build-up turned into a chemical explosion, creating a high-burst vapor cloud that ignited in the air. 

Frank and Jessica cursed. The other gang members yelled and started flailing about. 

It was a flash weapon. 

Frank fired in the direction of the thing, but it leaped, its leg muscles propelling it over Matt’s head. It made an odd chitterling noise before rushing at two of the gang members who began shooting widely.

_Pfffffft._

Two giant blades slid out from the thing’s wrists and before Matt could toss his club at its head, the figure sliced both men from rib to rib. 

Then it jumped onto the forklift and over a wall, running until it disappeared into the depths of another building. 

“Holy shit,” Jessica yelled.

It took too many seconds for Matt to catch his sputtering breath before he ran toward the two men who writhed on the ground in their own blood.

***

The white-flash had temporarily blinded Frank, but his aim had been true, and he fired in the direction Red instructed. His eyes were still too overcome by stimuli to focus, but he dug his boots into the ground and turned around until he faced the opposite direction. He couldn’t pull the trigger, not knowing where Jones and Red were, as he heard their target jump from the crane to the ground in front of him.

“Damn it,” he growled, blinking against the dots to his vision.

He heard feet pound the ground, the unsheathing of several knifes, and the sound people made in the back of their throats when they were mortally wounded. 

“Holy shit.” That was Jones, he recognized. 

Frank staggered toward the moaning and gurgling of blood, his sight returning as he ran toward the wall.

“Frank!” 

He ignored Red, slinging his rifle strap over his shoulder as he started climbing the forklift.

“Damn it, Frank, we need help!”

“He doesn’t give a shit,” Jones said frantic. “Fuck. Look at this….”

Scanning the darkness and knowing he’d need the support of the other two to mount an offensive, Frank jumped back down and headed toward them. 

One of the men writhing on the ground had two long gashes across his belly. Red had pulled off his gloves and attempted to put pressure on the giant wound. But it was gushing blood and based on the volume, the blade had ripped through muscle to the bone.

“You’re wasting your time.” Frank called things like he saw them. Given Red’s abilities he had to know it was a lost cause. 

Frank glanced over at Jones who tried holding the other guy’s guts from spilling out. She looked up at him with an expression of horror. The guy gasped for breath while she gripped his hand.

Frank pulled out his Sig. “I can put him out of his misery.”

Jones held the dying man closer and stared at Frank like she wanted to eviscerate him. His offer was an act of mercy, whether she acknowledged it or not. Ignoring them, he strode toward the kidnap victim and the three remaining gang members; all four huddled together on the ground. Shared trauma made strange bedfellows. 

Movement from behind caught his attention and Frank whirled around and aimed his weapon at the gang leader, Kerron. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Kerron was six-two of wiry muscle, with tattoos along his neck and a shaved head. “What the hell? Who cares, we need to jet!”

“You want to run?” Frank shrugged his shoulders. “Go ahead. I’m sure you’ll make good bait.”

Kerron paled. “What?”

His other two buddies huddled closer to him, wide-eyed and scared shitless. One of them bleeding from Frank’s other bullet.

Red came over, his jaw clenched so tight it would probably fracture. Frank knew that expression, all that anger raging inside and nowhere to direct it. 

“What the hell was that?” Blood dripped from Red’s hands.

Frank wondered how many people Red had witnessed die, how many Hail Marys he recited at night in guilt. “I don’t know.”

“Stop bullshitting me. That thing…it wasn’t….”

“Wasn’t what?” Frank had his theories, but they were bullshit, they had to be. He needed the man in front of him to prove him wrong. “What did you see?”

It was an odd question to ask a blind man, except Red saw in ways Frank didn’t understand. It was one of the reasons why he wanted him here. “I’ll tell you what I saw, a whole bunch of nothing. Except maybe this…shimmer.”

“It was like some invisible cloak.” Jones said. “And it was fast.”

“It’s not human,” Red said like he still couldn’t believe it. 

“It’s a god-damned alien with an invisibility cloak, isn’t it?” Jones glared at Red then stormed toward Frank and got into his face. “But you probably knew that, right? It’s the reason for this little field trip?”

Even though he’d seen the Invasion of New York on TV, Frank had balked at the idea of an alien getting past Earth’s defenses, let alone there’d been more than one occasion when a being had hunted here.

How often had this happened and how complicit was the government in covering it up?

Images of the remains of his brothers in arms flashed inside his head. Frank shook his head against the memory.

_One batch, two batch, penny and dime._

“Earlier tonight I told you I found something,” he said to Jones, who hadn’t budged an inch. It was the final key to the puzzle he didn’t want to accept. Frank nodded at Red. “I still think you should look at it.” 

“I came here for a friend.”

“Now who’s bullshitting?” Because Frank saw through Red’s goody two-shoes act: he enjoyed beating down bad people. “You may have come here for a friend, but you knew I was tracking something dangerous, and you came for that, too. And hey, we did some charity work, right?”

Frank looked over at Kerron and gestured toward the kid Red had recognized. “You brought him to torture, why?”

“It’s none of your business.” Kerron pressed against the wound in his shoulder, blood staining his hand. “Man, I need to go to a hospital.”

Red ignored the leader and stood in front of the teen that’d been kidnapped. “Cuchillo. Are you okay?”

The teen trembled and stared down at his stained jeans, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “I just want to go home.”

One of the other gang members snickered. “Go home to mommy.”

Jones punched the guy in the shoulder hard enough to knock him down. “I’d say beating on someone seven guys to one is the definition of coward.”

“Knuckle, shut the hell up.” Kerron stared at the hole in his shirt and glared at Frank. “What the hell do you want? Cause either let me and my guys go, or shoot us, because I’m tired of standing here bleeding.”

Frank was tempted to grant the asshole’s wish, but he wasn’t in mood to be lectured by Red. He looked over at his temporary unit. “I need help identifying what I found.”

“Seriously?” Jones turned toward Red. “While we’re standing here debating about what to do next, some invisible alien is out there killing people. And if our resident murderer is right, we’re inside his home base.”

Red opened his mouth to answer, but then his whole body tensed.

“Okay this is the second time you’ve done that. What the hell do you hear?” Jones demanded.

Frank was good at reading people; he could tell Jones was more than a little freaked-out. Red was equally as shaken. 

“It’s…a pulse, like a radio frequency but at the strangest decibel. The…modulation, it’s….just weird.”

“Where is it transmitting from?” Frank asked. 

“Hey,” Jones grabbed Red’s arm. “What are you doing? We came here because of your cop friend. We got ambushed by something that butchered over ten people and now you want to chase after a mysterious radio transmission that only you can hear, right into a scary abandoned building with an invisible killer. We are not prepared for this. And what about these civilians?”

Red started nodding. “Yeah, okay. Maybe we could….” Suddenly, he pulled out his baton, his breathing rapid. “We’ve got go. Now.”

Jones stared at him. “What?”

“It’s circling around,” Red warned. He detached both batons and held them at ready position.

Frank unshouldered his rifle. “Direct me.”

“He’s standing on the sixth floor of the building across from us.”

Frank knew exactly what spot the killer had taken. “Get down! He’s in sniper position.”

“Everyone behind that forklift,” Jones growled, shoving the civilians out of the line of fire.

Frank started to seek cover when Red yelled, “Wait, he’s got some type of energy weapon.”

“What do mean?” Frank demanded. 

“It’s charging…take cover!”

Frank expected an RPG, not a laser burst. Instinctively, he dove to the ground and covered his head with his arms as a bolt of energy struck the half-built roof, blowing it apart. Large chunks of concrete and debris fell, pieces of rubble peppering Frank’s back.

Knowing this was a distraction, Frank got to his knees and brought up his rifle. “Red, where is it?”

He heard coughing, Red’s voice thick as gravel. “He’s on the ground…running toward us. At your two o’clock.”

There was a glimmer, an odd light fluctuation, twenty meters away, fifteen. _Damn, the thing was fast._ Frank squeezed the trigger. His spray of fire hit the target, the odd light refraction fluttering with the impact of bullets. But it didn’t go down.

“Frank, move!” Red yelled.

Frank grabbed a grenade from his belt, fingers around the pin, but the thing was too close.

_Pfffffft_

He saw four metal blades from somewhere. The invisible shield was rudimentary; Frank could see the creature’s outline as it moved. 

Dropping the grenade, Frank pulled out his Sig. Red was a second faster. He flung his billy club and a metal cable wrapped around the thing’s right arm several times. Red grunted as he wrenched it.

The alien stumbled from the force of the pull, but didn't go down. It stood to its full height and wrapped its hands around the cable and yanked back in return.

Red almost went with it, but he let go of the other baton, and recovered before he was carried off his feet by the momentum. 

The alien made a chittering sound before it charged at Red with its blades. 

Red went to his right knee and hooked his left leg around the alien’s ankle, trapping it between his calf and thigh in a hold. Wrapping his arms behind the thing’s knees, Red tackled it. Momentum and force drove the alien forward with Red spinning around and twisting the creature onto its back. Red stated climbing on top of the thing.

It looked like Red was about to try a ground and pound, but the alien made a loud bleating noise. It swiped at him, its blades missing when Red flipped away.

Roaring, the creature clambered to its feet. 

Frank shot center-mass. He kept his finger curled around the trigger in hopes enough firepower would penetrate the thing’s defenses. 

“You’re going to hit Matt!” Jones shouted.

She ran up behind Frank. 

He didn’t dignify the accusation with a response; Frank had Red in his peripheral vision as Red scaled the forklift. 

He ran out of ammo and changed clips, noting the invisible shield has stopped working in places, revealing plates of black body armor. 

“You can be damaged,” he said under his breath.

Their target swung its head toward Frank as if it heard him.

Frank brought up his M4 to shoot the damn thing in the face. But the alien leaped, cutting the distance between them in seconds.

It landed beside Jones and slashed at her face, but she ducked under the blades and punched the alien in the mid-section. It grunted from the impact stumbling on its feet before launched toward her again.

Frank flipped his weapon around and bashed the rifle butt against its back. Chittering, the alien backhanded him, its fist slamming into the side of Frank’s skull. 

It was like getting hit by a baseball bat. Pain exploded inside his head as the force of the blow knocked him down. 

He heard another set of grunts. It sounded like Red was tag teaming with Jones; fists were impacting heavy flesh and metal plating. Frank got to one knee so he could stand. 

“Move!” Jones yelled at Red.

Frank hadn’t noticed her lift and carry a giant piece of broken concrete over. Red did a quick side step as Jones threw the piece of concrete. It shattered against the thing’s body upon impact.

“Energy weapon!” Red yelled.

He flung his billy club, knocking the alien’s hand just as it fired. The blast went wide missing Jones by inches.

Frank used the distraction and searched for the grenade he dropped. He missed grabbing it with the first try, but snagged it on the second. “Fire in the hole!” 

After lobbing the grenade, he threw himself as far away as he could.

The explosion resulted in a concussive force, propelling him into the side of the forklift, his shoulder taking the brunt of the impact. He tried standing, but his legs betrayed him, and he had to lean on the side of the forklift as the others struggled to their feet. 

“Jess?” Red’s voice was ragged, his breath catching against the sound.

“I’m fine,” Jones grunted. “You?”

“Good.”

“What about _It_?” she asked.

“Still alive,” Red panted. “We need to move….”

“Finish it…off,” Frank growled, trying to get to his feet again and failing. Damn it.

“I left my alien ray gun at home,” Jones snapped.

“Come on, Frank,” Red said, grabbing him by the back of his jacket. “On your feet.”

Red wrapped Frank’s arm around his shoulder and started moving him along. 

“Grab my weapons,” Frank said in between heavy breaths. “And grab the ones from the others.”

“They hauled ass into The Thing’s lair,” Jones said, gripping Frank’s guns. 

“Exactly where we’re headed,” Red said.

“This is exactly the same stupid type of shit that dumb people do in horror movies,” Jones muttered.

***


	3. Chapter Three

***  
All Jessica wanted to do tonight was grab a few drinks with Trish and bitch about crappy clients. But no, she had to run into danger-magnet Matt Murdock and his murder-buddy so she could be hunted by an alien. For the first time in her life, she wanted to know what it felt like to fire the assault rifle that hung over her shoulder.

Matt though, continued to earn his title of self-sacrificing saint by lugging Castle around, who finally seemed to get his bearings after colliding with a forklift.

“Frank, what the hell are you doing?” Matt grunted.

“I told you, we need to finish it off.” Castle pulled away from Matt and moved toward a stack of pallets. Leaning against the wooden crates, he gestured at the weapon hanging from Jessica’s shoulder. “I need that.”

Jessica was happy to get rid of it. She handed over the rifle, and Castle winced when he reached over to grab it. She gave the building a cursory glance, but it wasn’t much to look at. Whatever used to be here was cleared out, leaving a pretty empty room except some random debris, a catwalk, and portable work lights that hung from scaffolding. 

Matt exhaled and nodded at Castle. “We need to—”

“Re-group, which is what we just did. I never agreed to a retreat.” Breathing heavily, Castle checked his magazine for ammo. It took him two times to re-insert it. “Can you see it from here? Is it injured?”

Matt was agitated, Jessica could tell even with half his face was covered by the mask. No one radiated tension like Murdock. “We need to find Cuchillo and—”

A loud bellowing noise echoed through the building.

Castle jutted his chin at Matt, even though the gesture was probably lost on the man. “You want to save them? We need to kill this thing.”

Matt worked his jaw. “Yeah, agreed.” His whole body stilled. “It hasn’t moved…it’s….” His nostrils flared. “I don’t know about its biology, but based on the smell, I think it’s bleeding.” He looked in Castle and Jessica’s direction, his voice thoughtful. “I remember when I was on top of it; I noticed its lower extremities weren’t covered by armor plating. Its legs were exposed, the skin was like…leather….”

“Then we’ll target its weak-points,” Castle said.

Jessica rolled her eyes; she was so grateful to be in the presence of a true military genius. “Are you going to throw another grenade without warning?” Because the asshole was lucky she and Matt were good at jumping out of the way.

“I issued a warning.” 

“Are you going to be able to fire a weapon with a cracked collarbone and a concussion?” Matt asked. 

Jessica added possible x-ray and MRI abilities to the ever-growing file of Matt Murdock inside her head. The concussion was an obvious diagnosis based on Castle’s poor coordination; she’d suspected a shoulder injury based on his impeded movement. 

“We’re wasting time,” Castle grunted. “And for the record, I’d never put my unit in danger if I thought I wasn’t fit to carry out my duty.” And based on his scowl, he seemed insulted that Matt could suggest such a thing.

“I’m well aware of your pain threshold,” Matt conceded.

“I wish mine for dealing with so much testosterone was as high,” Jessica muttered.

Matt smirked, but it began to fade as he cocked his head and started walking.

“For crying out loud.” Jessica followed him as he made his way to the east wall. “Use your words, Matt. The rest of us aren’t connected to the Matrix.”

“It’s the same signal from earlier. It’s broadcasting at thirty minute intervals.” Matt crouched at an area of disturbed dirt, his mouth partially open in confusion. “It’s coming from here.”

Jessica bit her lip, caught between escape and curiosity. But now wasn’t the time for exploring. “Look, I’m loathe to admit it, but Castle’s right: we should probably go after that thing while it’s wounded.”

But Matt was transfixed, running his hand along the edge of long piece of metal sticking out of the dirt. His fingers were covered with bloodstains. 

She stared at her own hands and rubbed them against her jeans to scrub away the dried blood. God, she had enough of this shit over the years, she didn’t need to be reminded what it was like to witness another human being’s suffering and not be able to do a damn thing about it. Her pulse pounded inside her ears and she tugged at her scarf, her skin overheating. 

Jessica glanced at Matt, his fingers splayed against the metal buried under the dirt, his heavy breaths blowing the dust around. His intensity was freaking her out. “Matt,” she called out. But he didn’t respond and Jessica touched his shoulder and shook it. “Murdock.”

“There’s something huge buried here, it’s…the metal alloy isn’t anything I’ve ever seen before and it’s dense, like a….” Matt stood up so suddenly he almost head-butted her. “I think it’s a ship.”

God damn it. Could the day get any worse?

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Jessica said, her mind reeling. “Shouldn’t spaceships be parked somewhere else, preferably not underground?”

“I think this is older, much older…it’s ancient.”

Jessica heard the heavy thump of boots as Castle made his way over, his gait unsteady, the M4 hung over his shoulder. He gripped his Sig in the other hand. “They’ve been here before, haven’t they?”

“Based on the depth this is buried, the ship is hundreds of years old.” Matt looked down at the ground. “The demolition must have exposed it then triggered a beacon.”

“You mean like a homing transmission?” Jessica said. 

“It could be what brought that thing here,” Castle commented. It was weird to see him contemplating things like a normal person. 

The alien bellowed again; its high-pitched scream grated on Jessica ears. 

What was it doing here if the ship crashed here so long ago? 

Then the pieces started connecting in her head, dread filling her stomach. “Is this part of an invasion force?” Jessica couldn’t deal with that, not again. Not ever.

“I think it just likes killing,” Castle said, matter-of-fact. “Like I said, I’ve seen something like this before.”

“And you didn’t warn us?” Jessica’s cheeks burned. “You’re The Punisher! Why didn’t you bring a rocket launcher or a machine gun?”

“Because this was supposed to be just recon.” His eyes narrowed into a glower. He shook his head and started pacing despite the occasional wobble. “I thought it was out in the streets. I wanted help in identifying it and gain a better understanding so we could launch a proper offensive.” He actually sounded guilty.

Jessica gave him room to burn off his anger. Her impression of Frank Castle was that he took tactical errors harder than most people.

“Its kills are ritualistic,” Matt said.

Castle strode over and nodded at Matt; the way he interacted with him often made Jessica forget that Matt couldn’t see such gestures. 

“Maybe it’s attracted to blood?” Castle pondered. “It could explain why it began going after the gangs.” 

“It could be,” Matt said, pursing his lips. He shook his head. “Those guys were going to torture Cuchillo. I think the alien was drawn here. Maybe….” Matt’s eyebrows rose. “Maybe it’s attracted to violence in general—like it can sense when hormones and endorphins are released.”

“It’s a wonder it doesn’t have a hard on for you,” Jessica told Castle.

He actually chuckled in response. 

The alien screamed again and Matt sucked in a breath. 

Jessica exhaled in dread. “That does not sound good.”

“We’ve never considered that there might be more than one,” Matt said.

“Are you shitting me?” Jessica turned around to see if another one was behind them.

“There’s a second one, its scent…,” Matt wrinkled his face. “…it’s repugnant.”

Castle stared at the entrance to the construction site. “We’ll out flank it. The both of you do exactly what I say.”

“This is the only time you can say that and expect to keep your jaw intact,” Jessica told him. She crossed arms over her chest. “How many more grenades do you have left?”

“None.”

“Just peachy,” she said. 

“I normally don’t need more than one.” Considering how outmatched they were, Castle didn’t show an ounce of trepidation. “Red, you’re our spotter. Jones, you’ll—”

“I’ll distract the thing so you can shoot it. Got it,” Jessica said. “This isn’t exactly the Battle of Thermopylae.”

Castle pulled out a second handgun and held it up for her. “Here.”

“I’ll pass.”

He glanced over at Matt and paused in consideration, eyes narrowing before holding up the weapon. “Can you…?”

“I’m good. Thanks.”

Jessica studied the cant of Matt’s head, the way the lines at the corners of his mouth deepened. She grabbed a piece of rebar from the ground.

Matt looked up at the girders, startled. “The other alien’s coming through the roof.”

“It’ll be able to pick us off from with that advantage,” Castle growled.

The alien jumped down onto the long metal beam four meters above their heads. It didn’t use invisibility tech; it was taller than the first one, well over seven feet with thicker and longer dreads along the side of its head. Instead of armor plates, it wore a leather vest with red markings, matching pieces were wrapped around it arms, the rest of its flesh was exposed. 

“It has a damn spear,” Jessica said.

Castle gripped his rifle but didn’t aim it, to her surprise. He was exercising restraint; probably reaching the same conclusion as her… the alien was attracted to acts of aggression. 

The alien stopped midway down the beam; a mask shielded its face. The mask was thinner than the first alien’s, bronze colored, and looked like a visor. The alien looked in Jessica’s direction, its breaths audible behind the mask.

After a long uncomfortable minute it turned toward Castle, its fingers gripping the middle of the spear even tighter. 

“It’s studying us,” Matt warned. 

It looked in Matt’s direction last, taking a step closer, cocking its head to the side, the movement reminiscent of when Matt ‘looked’ at things. 

“What are the chances that it uses thermal vision behind that mask?” Jessica asked.

“It emits an electrical field similar to thermal goggles,” Matt answered. “So, it’s possible.”

“This stare off game is getting too freaky.” Jessica licked her lips. “Maybe if we walked away in a non-threatening manner it’ll get bored.”

None of them budged and Jessica took the opportunity to study their opponent. A long scimitar hung down one leg, a gun was attached to its left wrist, and what looked like arrows stuck out from a pack from its back. It was a goddamned big game hunter.

Matt began moving to his left, creating distance between her and Castle. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I think it’s been staring at me the most, at least its head has been pointed in my direction.” Matt continued walking toward the left hand wall. “Not to mention, the one we almost killed is trying to sneak up behind us, so I’m creating a slight distraction.”

How could she have forgotten about the other one?

“I was supposed to be the distraction,” she growled. Jessica started in the opposite direction, sick to death of his self-sacrificing tendencies. 

The alien watched Matt as he moved and after a long beat, it looked in Castle’s direction, then Jessica’s. 

It made a low chirring noise before aiming the weapon from its wrist at Castle and fired. 

“Frank!” Matt shouted, his warning just seconds too late.

A blue bolt of energy struck Castle, his whole body stiffening, his weapon slipping from his fingers as he collapsed. 

“No!” Matt shouted. Panting, he started toward Castle, stopping himself abruptly, his breathing slowing. “It’s…a stun weapon. He’s not dead.”

The alien flicked his head in Matt’s direction and started firing at him.

Calling Matt a Russian gymnast was not an exaggeration. The man defied gravity, and Jessica often wondered if that was his true super ability. But she couldn’t pay him much attention—not when her goal was to save them both.

Ignoring the sound of weapons fire and the thumping of Matt’s feet as he leaped and flipped, Jessica scaled the metal scaffolding leading up to the catwalk.

Climbing to the tenth rung, she found the support beam responsible for holding up the far right side of the catwalk. Grabbing it with her right hand, she tore it off the wall along with all the brackets, the whole the beam collapsing from the sudden lack of support.

Jessica jumped to the ground as the catwalk fell apart in a heap of noise and clanking metal. Heart pounding, she searched for the alien, but it must’ve leaped down in the collapse. Bastard.

It didn’t take long to follow the sound of the continuing fight.

The alien towered over Matt. Weight and height usually slowed reflexes, but this creature was agile. The spear weapon had a serrated edge and the alien swung it in a series of arcs.

Matt ducked under swipes and jabs, contorting his body in ways Jessica didn’t think possible. 

Picking up a piece of pipe from the metal scaffolding, Jessica stalked behind the alien and swung it like a baseball bat into the back of its legs. The alien screeched, stumbling into Matt, who took advantage by battering the side of the alien’s unprotected head with his batons. 

Jessica slammed the pipe into every soft area she could find, delivering a tag-team of blows. 

Out of breath, Jessica saw the perfect area between its neck and skull. 

“Jess!”

She took her eyes off her target, only to be blindsided by Matt, a red laser bolt cutting through the air where she’d stood a second before.

The side of her temple smacked the ground making her vision swim, the weight that was Matt scrambling off of her. Before she could curse him, Jessica rolled onto her hands and knees, and watched Matt fling his billy club around the neck of the alien they had blown-up earlier.

Some of its armor plating was dented or missing, its cracked mask making electrical popping sounds. 

The thing screamed as Matt flicked his baton, tightening the cable around its neck. The alien’s legs were mess of wounds and crude bandages, the ground where it stood wet with green blood. 

By the time she caught her breath, Jessica heard the sound of crunching soil behind her. Fuck, she should have never turned her back on the other one. Bringing up her pipe, Jessica turned around swinging, only to be knocked to the ground by an unexpected force.

Panicked, she tried scrambling to her feet, only to realize she’d be struck by a giant piece of netting. The more she struggled, the more it ensnared her. Her heart felt like it was going to slam out of chest. “Goddamn it!”

Jessica gaped as the second alien stood there watching Matt as he brought the other one to its knees, keeping the cable taut. Green blood stained the creature’s neck; with a wet, gasping noise, it collapsed.

Matt made a grunt of surprise and Jessica knew the idiot felt guilt for killing it. “Come on,” Jessica growled as she struggled to get out of the netting.

The other alien tried to take advantage of Matt’s distraction by stalking him while his back was turned. Jessica was about to warn him when Matt dropped to his hands and did a backward leg sweep. It wasn’t strong enough to bring the creature down, but it provided enough time for Matt to retrieve his billy clubs.

The alien swung its spear at Matt’s head, but he ducked under the weapon, and smacked the underside of the alien’s arm holding it. Chittering, the alien wielded the serrated side of the spear like a sword while alternating with striking attacks.

Jessica intensified her attempts to free herself of the mesh. The thing entangled her legs so much it made it impossible for it standup. The netting was covered in barbs that cut her hands, but she didn’t give a fuck. 

She glanced through the lattice as the alien ducked under one of Matt’s batons and smashed the side of Matt’s face with its left arm, knocking him over.

Despite the fierceness of the strike, Matt struggled to his feet, the alien circling him. Jessica’s instincts screamed that it was holding back, it was bigger and faster than the other one, yet it seemed to be waiting….

“It’s a hunter,” she mumbled under her breath. “But why do hunters hunt?” Curling her fingers around one of the wire barbs, Jessica used it to cut through part of the net so she could wiggle her way out. Blood coated her skin, the pads of her right fingers burning in pain.

Crawling out of the net, she saw the alien strike Matt under the chin with end of the spear. Matt almost fell again, but he stubbornly remained on his wavering legs, his hands up like a drunken boxer.

Then the alien aimed its spear at Matt.

All Jessica could do was plow into the creature, but not before she saw it shoot a projectile at Matt.

Jessica slammed into the alien, sending the edge of her shoulder into the bastard’s back with all her might as Matt yelled in excruciating pain. 

She knocked the fucker down as it bleated in her ears. Jessica was so full of rage that she didn’t know she where was pounding her fists until she heard Castle yell.

“Jones, move!”

Jessica obeyed on instinct, rolling off the creature as it was struck by a barrage of bullets. 

Castle fired until the weapon clicked empty. Nostrils flaring, he ran toward the alien and bashed it in the head with the rifle butt. Frank Castle was fury personified. He hollered until his voice hoarsened, striking the unprotected side of the creature’s head with impressive accuracy given the rage.

One of the blows went wild, smashing the visor and breaking it in half. 

The thing roared and grabbed the rifle, tossing Castle to the ground as if he were a rag doll.

Castle staggered to his feet, sweat dripping down his face, his right arm hanging useless at his side. He spat on the ground.

The alien raised both its arms and shrieked, two jaws opening and snapping closed. The first one contained a set of fangs surrounded by four giant incisors, one at each corner of an outer mouth. Jessica couldn’t see any eyes; they were too sunken into its skull.

If the thing’s appearance was meant to inflict terror, it succeeded. Jessica could barely catch her breath.

Green blood leaked from multiple bullet wounds in the alien’s thigh and arm, but it remained upright, watching Castle.

It was a standoff.

Keeping an eye on Castle and the alien, she ran toward Matt. Kneeling beside him, she stared at his leg in horror. The spearhead was buried in the side of Matt’s calf, and based on the jagged wound, the damned thing had a serrated edge.

“Okay, you’re going to be okay,” she whispered, unsure where to put her hands. She wiped her injured fingers along the sides of her jeans. 

Matt’s whole body was strung tauter than a bow, his injured leg trembling non-stop. He hadn’t even acknowledged her presence, the only constant was the mantra under his breath, “Pain is the mind killer, rise above the pain, and you will prevail. Pain is the mind killer, rise above the pain, and you will prevail.”

“Jesus, this is way out of my field of expertise.” 

Glancing over at Castle, she saw the alien limp toward its dead companion. The alien’s outer mouth opened, eliciting a chittering noise as it unsheathed its scimitar, and chopped off the other alien’s head.

“Fuck me,” Castle said. 

Castle’s whole body tensed as the alien looked from him, to Matt and Jessica. Then it hobbled, hissing with every step, and tossed the head onto the ground toward where Jessica knelt next to Matt.

Then the creature chittered at them, and waited.

Jessica stared at the creature, at its bleeding leg and torso, then at the decapitated head. Just like the ones on the metal spikes. 

This time it screeched and stared at her and Matt. _Oh my God, the thing wanted Matt to have it for killing the first one._

Feeling at her wit’s end, she looked at Castle, who was watching them. “It’s a trophy!”

Castle stared at her, his brow furrowed. He didn’t look that hot, but even still—given he didn’t have anything left to shoot with—she wouldn’t put it past him to try to beat the alien with his fists. 

“It wants to continue hunting us, but I think it needs to lick its wounds. The fucker is going to allow us to retreat because we won round one.” Castle gave her a _you’ve got to be kidding me_ look. “Listen, asshole. It didn’t try to kill you or Matt; it was trying to capture us. So, let’s take the free pass and get the hell outta here.”

Jessica couldn’t afford to waste any more time; she returned her attention to Matt, touching his shoulder. “Come on, we have to go,” she said. 

His back arched up from the ground and let out a shuddering cry, his entire body shaking. 

She grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight. “Murdocks always get back up, right? You told me that once not too long ago.”

Matt coughed and sucked in several gulps of air. “Y-yeah,” he stuttered.

“Look, I’m going to get you out of here. It’s probably going to hurt like hell, but I’ve got you.”

He nodded, before being wracked by another full-body tremor. Careful of his head, Jessica bent over and picked him up and put him over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

Jessica didn’t know where she was going, or how she was going to fix his leg, but she was damn well going to make it happen.

Not knowing if it would piss off the alien, Jessica gripped Matt with one hand as she reluctantly bent to grab the damn head. 

Trying to ignore Matt’s gasps, she glared at Castle as she walked by him. “You’re the only one here who knows field hospital shit, so either let that bastard kill you, or help us.”

Castle didn’t say a word as he pulled out a six-inch knife and staggered beside her. “Go, it won’t touch you.” 

Based on his hardened expression, Jessica believed him.

Raising his Ka-Bar, Castle trudged beside them, keeping himself between her, Matt, and the alien. It was like walking beside a raging wall.

“Do you know where this leads?” she asked, clueless where they were headed.

“An abandoned paint factory.”

“Great, maybe when we’re done, we can get high on all the fumes.”

Once they made their way inside, she heard the strangest sound, her blood running cold when she realized the alien was laughing.

***


	4. Chapter Four

***

_Go, go, go._

Frank took the rear position behind Jones with Red slumped over her shoulders. They kept an aggressive pace despite the lack of light. 

Gripping his knife, Frank split his time between checking their flank and trying not to trip over the debris scattered over the factory floor. He slammed his hip against one of the giant empty metal wells for paint when he lost his balance again. Damn head injury. The pain he could deal with, but not the vertigo. 

His right shoulder throbbed, the bones grinding when he lifted his arm. He clutched the knife until the grip dug into his palm. Pain was something to hone his focus.

Once his eyes adjusted to the dark, he scanned the area for a spot to hole up in, nodding at a series of pipes that fed into a large pumping station. “Over here.”

Jones turned her whole body toward his voice and Frank gestured at the floor. “This has good cover with a line of sight toward the exit.” She hesitated, her breathing labored from transporting her charge. “We've put enough distance between us and it. I wouldn’t recommend stopping otherwise,” Frank said.

She dropped the alien head, then kneeled and lowered Red to the floor. “There’s a spearhead in his leg.” She flicked her eyes toward Frank, nostrils flaring. “It has metal teeth.”

He’d mentally prepared for a serious injury; the fact Jones had to carry Red was evidence enough. “Keep your eye out for the creature.” 

Frank crouched next to the man he’d once called a coward, narrowing his eyes at Red’s constant muttering, realizing he was repeating something under his breath. 

“He’s been like that the whole time,” Jones said, running a hand through her hair. She crouched beside him. “I’m going to take off his mask.”

Good. She needed to feel useful; it would help her focus and give Frank time to do his evaluation. 

Jones removed the helmet. Frank took in Red’s bruised and battered face and the way his vacant eyes stared up at the ceiling as he muttered. Red curled and uncurled his fists by his sides while his cheat heaved, his leg wracked by tremors. 

Frank patted down the lining of his jacket and found the small Maglite he kept in one of the pockets. Turning it on, he shone the light where the weapon protruded out of Red’s calf, but it was hard to examine the extent of the injury with so much movement. 

“You’ve got to keep still,” Frank said, grabbing Red’s ankle to hold the limb steady.

Red jerked his leg out of Frank’s grasp, forcing Frank to stick the flashlight in his mouth so he could hold Red’s thigh and ankle immobile. “Stop it," he mumbled, "you’re going to make it worse.”

“You have the worst bedside manner,” Jones growled. 

Frank laid the flashlight on the ground. “This isn’t TV; this is triage.” 

But despite the obvious wound, something wasn’t right. This was a man who’d beaten down ruthless criminals and took a pasting in return while remaining on his feet to fight some more.

Frank listened to Red’s constant litany under his breath, at the rhythm and pattern of his repeated words, recognizing it for what it was: a focusing technique. 

Reaching over, he laid a hand on Red’s shoulder. “Tell me about the injury.” When he didn’t get a response, Frank gave Red’s shoulder a shake, raising his voice. “Red! Push though the fucking pain and focus.”

Red sucked in a breath, releasing the air in his lungs in several stuttering gasps. He turned his head in Frank’s direction with the help of Jones, who sat behind him, supporting his neck with her hand. “It’s…it’s emitting some type of…nerve signal….”

Frank shone his flashlight at the weapon. “Nerve signal?”

“Yeah…p-pain signal radiating through the saphenous nerve…up the femoral nerve…into the….” Red groaned, panting.

“Holy shit,” Jones cursed. 

“How deep does the blade go?” Frank asked.

“T-to...the bone.”

“Is it broken?”

“No. It chipped…” Red grunted. “…the fibula...God!”

Red started rolling onto his side, but Jones leaned over, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, keeping him in place. “You’re going to be fine…you survived a building falling on top of you. You’ve got this.” Jones glanced up at Frank, her lips twisted in a snarl. “You can start triage any time now.”

The weapon had entered at an odd angle in the side of the leg, below the knee and above Red’s boot. The Kevlar had probably saved him from an even more serious trauma, but the location of the injury was dangerous. 

“He’s got at least five pieces of metal in ‘im. If I pull them out, it could tear blood vessels, or an artery.”

“Do it,” Red grunted.

“You could bleed out.” Frank didn’t experience regrets anymore; he’d forgotten how bad one felt. “We have to leave it in.”

Red pounded a fist against the ground, growling. “Damn it, Frank. Yank this thing out of my goddamned leg!”

Emotion had no place in a trauma situation. Frank ignored him. “What’s the status on the creature?”

Jones looked like she wanted to murder him, but Red blinked up at the ceiling. “I don’t know…’s too far away.”

That was enough distance then. 

Frank nodded at Jones. “This isn’t going to be fun. Maybe you could…?”

“Do what?”

Frank stared at her. “And you question my bedside manner?”

“God, I need a drink.” Scooting over, Jones rested Red’s head on her thigh, and then cleared her throat. “So, what was it like to be raised by nuns?”

Clenching his jaw, Frank undid the laces of Red’s boot and removed it, the motion causing Red to bite down on a yell. Fingers clawing the floor, he started talking to Jones in raspy clips. “It…was…noisy.”

Frank rotated Red’s lower leg so he could inspect where the metal shaft protruded and trace the intricate part where it must have slotted into the spear. There was a row of tiny blue LED lights, which meant there was something providing a source of power. 

“Did you ever sneak out or bring girls back or what?” Jones asked, continuing with the distraction. 

Red made a low growl in the back of his throat, his entire body coiled tight, but he kept his leg straight except for the occasional twitch. Frank was impressed with his self-control.

“Sister Sarah…was like a bloodhound…wh-when it came to that stuff….”

Frank traced the sides of the metal shaft, over two indented spots that felt too designed not to have a use. The creature had stunned Frank and shot a snare net at Jones. Maybe the spear inflicted pain because it was meant to incapacitate, not kill. 

“….s-sometimes the church basement…was the only spot I could focus….”

Taking a breath, Frank pressed what he thought were two release points, all five teeth retracting in response.

Red gasped, his body jerking in reaction, then after a moment he all but melted back against the floor. Taking a quivering breath, Red groaned, his head lolling to the side. “It...stopped.”

“Thank God,” Jones mumbled.

Maybe. The spearhead was still inside. 

Frank took out a pocketknife and started cutting through the micro-thin layer of Kevlar around the injury, gritting his teeth at how long it took. An ER was out of the question and he needed to keep any hemorrhaging down to a minimum. 

Searching his coat, he pulled out the soft, leather belt and wrapped it around Red’s leg right below the knee, keeping it tight but not cutting off the circulation. 

After tying the tourniquet he looked over Jones. “Can you find something to stop the bleeding once I remove this?”

“Sure, I’ll just run to the local pharmacy.”

But she didn’t waste any time getting up and searching the waste that littered the floor. Jones was piss and vinegar with the attitude, but she was a serious force to be reckoned with. Frank could respect that.

He heard Red sucked in a breath and Frank watched him prop himself up on his elbows, his gaze off by a mile. “Frank….”

“Save your breath.”

“Promise me….”

“The only thing I’m promising you is it’s gonna hurt like hell when I pull this thing out of your leg. It’ll be a driving, constant pain, and it’s going to take every ounce of focus to ignore it and get back on your feet and help us kill that piece of shit. You got it?” 

Red’s answer was to glare in his direction. Frank shook his head at the sheer stubbornness. Exhaling, he took a moment to breathe, the adrenaline rush from the situation fading into his own throbbing joints. His vision swam and he squeezed his eyes closed against the dizziness.

“Frank–”

“Whatever it is, save it.” He didn’t want to hear Red ask about his wellbeing or listen to an altruistic request. “I didn’t know about that building collapse when it happened. I was busy with other things.” Frank should have put certain newspaper headlines together earlier. “Don’t you do that again, you hear me? People need you in that stupid mask.”

“Now I know you have a head injury.” 

Frank rolled his eyes, but Red was like a dog with bone. “Something’s changed with you…hasn’t it?”

“You don’t know me, Red. And you don’t want to.”

“When you came to my place earlier…,” Red swallowed hard, his voice thinner. “You could have told me…everything….”

Frank was surprised by the sudden wave of guilt that washed over him. Regret had no place in his life anymore, but it was damn relentless enemy. 

He watched Red’s arms give out as he settled back against the floor, his breathing deep and raspy. Red had a rare type of fortitude; Frank would make sure he and Jones made it out of here alive. 

Speaking of, he looked over as she hurried over, dumping a set of rags on the floor. “This is all I could find.”

They weren’t sanitary, but they’d have to do. He looked over at her and gestured at their comrade. “Your job is to keep him from punching me.”

“Only for today.”

He snorted; that was the second time in a day she’d almost made him laugh. 

Frank waited until Jones started talking to Red again before he gripped the end of the spearhead. Red’s whole body tensed in anticipation; Frank wanted to tell him that only made it worse, but he pulled the damn thing out instead.

Red choked back a scream while Frank balled up the first rag and used it as a compression bandage, then he wrapped the other rag around the large wound, to keep it in place. As he repeated the process with the other punctures holes and removed the tourniquet, he started formulating an exit strategy without weapons and with an injured member. 

***

The factory was stripped of anything useful. Graffiti covered the walls and broken windows allowed dim moonlight through. Frank looked up at the systems of pipes, engines that powered the pumps, and masses of coils and wires. 

Spotting several buckets on the floor, he scanned the labels, their words blurring before arranging themselves again. There was a can of rust remover tossed in the corner; he snagged it while he searched for anything else useful. 

Looking around, he found a bucket and started filling it with random nails, screws, and broken pieces of debris. It was muscle memory, finding the right tools and combinations.

_Oxidizer and flammables._

His right arm refused to work properly, forcing him to carry everything with his left one, the grinding sensation in his shoulder becoming more noticeable.

But this was just a routine, a pattern to use and focus on. Frank ran into the side of a pump and stared at it, wondering what he was doing for a split second. Right. He had to kill that beast.

His feet did something where he walked too far to the right before he compensated to move in a straight line. He almost headed in the opposite direction before he remembered two people were waiting on him.

Frank spotted a sink, the emergency eyewash station within range of Jones and Red, their voices audible in the emptiness of the factory. He went toward it, searching for…there. Bleach. He stared at the bottle.

“…don‘t argue with me, Matt. I’m carrying your dumb ass out of here. End of story.”

“It’s not that–”

“Then what is it? Because I don’t see the problem. We escape and call in the Army or whomever to blow this place up.”

Frank began filling the bucket of metal pieces with the rust remover first. _Oxidizer and flammables._

“We need to find Cuchillo and Detective–”

“Look, they’re probably long gone or….”

“If they’re dead then where are the bodies?” Red huffed for breath. “Look, the creature captured us, maybe it–”

“It let us escape because we fought back and killed one. We’re probably the only people who put up a good fight and it got turned on that we weren’t so easy to slaughter.” 

Frank blinked at the bleach bottle again wondering if it two parts of three parts per unit. He poured most of the bottle when he noticed the broom on the floor. 

“Hey, Matt…you with me?” Jones asked.

“’M fine.” 

“Yeah? White plaster has more color than you.” Her voice sounded strained. “We really should go.”

“We need to wait on Frank.”

Tape. Frank found the remains of a roll beside the sink and put it in his pocket.

“I still haven’t figured out the thing with you and Castle.” Jones sighed. “Did he kidnap you once or something? Do you have Stockholm syndrome?”

“He’s…it’s complicated.”

“Everything about you is complicated.”

“Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

“Seriously. If he’s not back in the next–”

“He’s over there mixing up something to make a bomb…I think.”

Frank couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped under his breath. One day he’d figure out how Red did that. “She’s right,” he said, bringing over his stuff. “We’re just skulls to mount on the wall.” 

Frank glanced over at Red, who sat propped against one of the paint wells, his bad leg resting on Jones’s leather jacket. His hair was soaked through with sweat, but he seemed more alert, his breathing a forced series of exhales and inhales. 

Frank took the broom handle and broke it over his knee then stared at the size. “Good enough.”

He slid both pieces across the floor toward Red then tossed the roll of electrical tape at Jones who caught it and gave him an incredulous look. “To splint his leg,” he told her. 

“I’m carrying him.”

“Yeah, but if we run into trouble, he needs to be somewhat mobile.”

Jones pinched her lips and sighed. “Did you really make a bomb out of cleaners and paint stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“Riiight.” Jones looked down at his collection. “You know that’s not going to be easy to haul around?”

“You two are going; I’m staying here to cover your flank.”

“No way. I’m not doing that again.” Jones stalked over and got into Frank’s face. “Even if your favorite hobby is homicide, I’m not leaving you behind so you can play martyr.”

“I ain’t no martyr,” Frank scoffed. “It’s tactics. You two retreat while I go on the offense.”

“With what?” Red asked.

Frank tapped the bucket with his boot. “With this.”

“A diluted mix of household chemicals?”

A spike of heat shot through Frank’s chest. “What do you think they make IEDs out of?”

Red pushed himself into a higher sitting position with a pained grunt. “Where’s your detonator?”

Frank stared down at what he collected; how could he have forgotten something so fundamental? And how did Red know anything about explosives? He grit his teeth. “This is my call.”

“No, it’s not,” Red said.

“I got us into this and I’m getting us out!” 

“You have a head injury, or isn’t that obvious by now?” Red swallowed. “I guess that makes you human.”

Frank took a step toward Red, his blood roaring in his ears.

Jones stepped over, blocking his path. 

“When we get out of here, I’ll let you two arm-wrestle or try to beat each other senseless, but right now, we need you to focus. Because it’s going to take all three of us to get out of this alive, okay?”

The roar dulled into a throb inside his skull. Frank counted to three and took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. He locked eyes with Jones, his voice even. “Stay on me and listen to my orders.”

“Fine.”

Frank nodded at Red. “The same goes for you.”

“Got it.”

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Frank needed to think of another plan. “Okay. Get ready to move.”

“I’ll finish the splint.” Jones bumped into Frank’s shoulder, hissing in his ear. “And will you stop all the damn gesturing? He can’t see it.”

Frank was rarely caught off guard, but the reminder gave him pause, and he closed his eyes, trying to ground himself.

_One batch, two batch…._

***

The paint factory was a swirl of scents: acetone and rubber, salt, plastics, every compound used to create colors. The titanium dioxide was especially fun.

But underneath the acidity in the air was the scent of organic matter, the secretion from alien skin. Matt hadn’t experienced this type of sensory overflow in a while, odors competing with millions of over-stimulated nerve fibers: a spider web of pain signals that continued to shoot up his leg, into his hip and back. 

It made him want to put weight on the limb, to balance out one pain for the other. 

“I think I can walk,” he said into Jessica’s hair.

“It doesn’t matter what you think,” she shot back.

But there were no comments or ribbing about basically giving him a piggyback ride. Her digs were blunt, a way to call him on his bullshit, but she was never cruel. 

It didn’t bruise his ego that she had to carry him, but he chastised himself for getting injured. He didn't hear the click of the weapon in time to move out of the way. He’d been sloppy. 

He focused on the oil and lambskin of Jessica’s leather jacket and not on the blood coagulating in only three of the five puncture holes, the larger wound slowly seeping into the makeshift bandage despite the added pressure from his suit.

He could smell the faint trace of Jessica’s blood over his own, could feel her move the hand holding his good leg against her hip to wipe the palm over her jeans.

“We should really bandage your–”

“Later,” she replied. 

“Jess….”

“Shut up, kettle.”

Matt clamped his jaw closed. 

“Status?” Frank asked. Every two minutes like clockwork.

“Nothing.” 

“Where do you think that thing is?” Jessica asked.

Anywhere. But Matt knew better than to say it out loud. “Frank shot it several times. I could hear the sound of its bullet wounds.”

“Eww,” Jessica muttered. “But seriously, how is it still alive?” 

“Maybe it takes more than projectiles to damage it. Or it heals faster?” Matt speculated, taking a deep breath to combat the constant throb to his leg. “The one I killed…its wounds were cauterized.” 

“So, it can treat itself.” Frank wobbled on his feet before using a wall for support. 

Matt didn’t dare suggest taking a rest break; it took days to heal from a concussion. Frank’s heartbeat was a steady thump, the fracture to the clavicle was clean, but the more Frank moved his arm, the more stress he put on the bone, displacing it by centimeters at a time. He insisted on carrying his bucket of death, but at least it had a lid. Anything was better than the decapitated head. Matt was glad they left it behind.

The structure of the building shifted from a factory floor into the more confined space of a hallway. A smell hit Matt hard, heavy copper and human proteins. He dug his fingers into Jessica’s shoulders. “Wait….”

Jessica stopped; Frank tensed in response, squeezing his knife handle. “What?”

“Blood,” Matt told him.

“Stay behind me,” Frank ordered. His footfalls echoed on the cement floor.

Matt adjusted his hold around Jessica’s shoulders. “I really think–“

“I’m not putting you down. If you put too much weight on your leg you’ll break it.” She adjusted his weight across her back. “Do you really want to add more weeks to your recovery?”

“I’m willing to risk a walking cast for a full one if it meant we’re both alive.”

Her trapezius muscles tightened, her pulse rate jumped twenty beats per minute. 

Matt heard Frank’s boots as they walked across a pool of blood. “I think our gang-bangers from earlier were here.” 

“Jesus, there’s nowhere to step,” Jessica said. 

“We need to keep moving.” Frank switched hands that carried the bucket. “This leads to a warehouse which means it’s a way out.”

“You psychic now?” Jessica asked.

“No, but I can read an emergency escape map.” Frank cleared his throat. “It’s hanging on the east wall.”

Matt quirked an eyebrow at the added clarification meant for his benefit. 

He licked dry lips recognizing signs of blood loss, not yet life threatening, just a slow lethargy from a decrease of oxygen-carrying, red blood cells. 

A shift in air pressure meant they were nearing the warehouse; there was a major drop in temperature and wind from broken windows or roof. 

Frank pushed open a set of double-doors; it was like releasing the floodgates to decay and death.

Matt closed his eyes, breathing in coconut soap and sweat, relishing in fresh skin instead of rot. She squeezed his legs.

Frank’s boots thudded as his gait slowed. Jessica’s body heat spiked. She sucked in a stuttered breath. “I’m kind of glad you can’t see this, Murdock….”

Matt swallowed. “How bad?”

“Worse than you can imagine,” Frank said.

Matt let go of Jessica’s back and she cursed under her breath. He was careful, keeping one hand on her shoulder, placing most of his weight on his good leg. His head swam and he remained still until his equilibrium returned. 

A low-level hum vibrated through the floor, the faint beep of electronics, and the two racing heartbeats. His body thrummed on a new burst of adrenaline. “There are two people left alive.”

Frank walked over and stopped a few feet away. “Huh. Guess we know what they were using to make those metal spikes. There’s a whole pile of rebar in the corner. And this…” 

He picked up something from the floor and handed Matt a piece of a 2 x 4 while Frank grabbed one of the pieces of rebar. 

Matt accepted the makeshift cane. He nodded at his companions. “This way.”

Jessica grabbed him by the shoulder. “You do realize what’s probably waiting for us?” 

Matt draped an arm around her shoulders and used the 2 x 4 as a crutch. “Yeah.”

Frank picked up another piece of rebar and held it out for Jessica. 

“Fine.” Pulling out her flask, Jessica took the last gulp remaining at the bottom. Then she took the spike from Frank. “Let’s kill this fucker and save whoever is left.”


	5. Chapter Five

***

Matt hobbled with Jessica’s help, the broom handles taped to either side of his leg keeping the bone somewhat stable. Wind whipped through the partially collapsed roof, helping to thin the scent of decomposition and burnt metal.

But there was something else: a whiff of ozone and ethyl formate. “It smells like…ester.”

“What are you mumbling about?” Frank demanded.

No–more like– _outer space._

Jessica’s blood pressure was high, even Frank’s respiration rate had spiked.

“Now we know where they parked their spaceships.” Jessica swallowed, adrenaline causing her hands to shake. “Damn.”

Matt adjusted how his arm draped around her shoulders, giving Jessica’s bicep a reassuring squeeze. “Now that’s something I’d actually like to see.” The metal shapes were the same size of a small plane, but he had no idea what the designs were. “We should keep moving.”

Like the rest of the building, the warehouse was empty except for scattered debris and leftover pallets and metal barrels. Based on the level of rust and chemicals at the bottom of them, they were abandoned illegally.

If Frank gripped his knife any tighter he was going to strain his wrist. “Enemy targets?” 

Matt shook his head. “Not here.” But the people they were tracking were petrified, based on their heart rates. “Ten meters ahead, to the left.”

Jessica slipped an arm behind his back and lifted Matt off his feet just enough to push him forward. He imagined it must have looked like the weirdest three-legged race, each them carrying a makeshift weapon in their free hand. They would probably the scare the shit out of the people they were trying to rescue.

Three pairs of boots clomping together weren’t exactly quiet. 

“Hey! We’re over here!”

Matt’s released a breath in relief. “That’s Brett.”

Brett and another man were surrounded by a set of waist-high, curved metal bars. 

“They’re in a cage,” Jessica said in disgust.

Frank was the first to reach them, placing his bucket of chemicals onto the ground; he started running his hands across the bars. “Where’s the lock?”

“I can’t fucking believe it,” Brett exclaimed. “Seriously…? I will arrest you again, you know that?”

Frank started walking around the cage. “You could try.”

Matt hobbled toward the cage with Jessica. He searched for differences in metal density to find a way to free them.

“Christ, you guys too? Is there a vigilante convention I’m not aware of?”

“This is the guy you’ve been trying to find?” Jessica asked.

“Yeah.” Matt couldn’t kneel, forcing him to lean against a side of the cage. He recognized another heartbeat and a faint scent of urine. “Cuchillo?”

“Si,” Cuchillo said, crawling toward the front of the cage.

“Hey,” Matt said pressing his head against the metal rails. “We’re going to get you guys out of here.”

Frank began shaking various bars. “Where the hell does it open?”

“The lock’s behind Detective Mahoney,” Matt said. “It’s at the bottom, sixth bar over….It’s got two cylinder slots.”

“I could pick it if I had the right tools,” Brett said.

“You got a weapon?” Frank asked.

“No, and if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Jessica snapped. She grabbed one of the bars and started bending it, grunting from the effort. “Damn it; what’s this made of? It feels light, but it’s freaking strong?”

“I don’t know,” Matt said confused. “The alloy is…strange.”

“Please…get us out of here,” Cuchillo started banging his hand on the bars.

“We’re getting both of you out of here,” Matt told him. Cuchillo’s heart was racing. “Hey, how did you end up here?” he asked, trying to distract him.

“I tripped when I was trying to run…I fell and hit my head.”

Matt ignored Frank’s grumble under his breath. “And you, Detective?”

“I was on my way here when I got pulled into a shoot-out. And in the middle of all the bullets we were attacked by that...thing. It killed everyone….” Brett shuddered. “I was dragging a buddy away when I got hit by a net and dumped in this damn cage with the others.”

Matt raised his eyebrows. “There are more prisoners?”

“There were four guys from the MS-13’s. That big alien bastard pulled them out by the ankles so it could….” Brett trembled. “So it could give it to the other three to play with.” 

Jessica stopped fighting with the bars, her voice tight. “What do you mean the other three?”

“The other aliens.” Brett licked his lips. “It was like watching a lion teach its cubs how to hunt and kill. The screams were…I’ll never get that out of my head.”

Frank stood from where he’d been trying to work the lock. “We need to mobilize. Now.”

Matt turned around and listened for the odd _lub-dub-dub_ beat of the aliens’ hearts. Jessica’s jacket brushed against Matt’s shoulder, her skin heavy with sweat underneath it. “Are they coming?”

Matt leaned the 2 x 4 against the cage and pulled out his billy clubs. “We should prepare for it.”

“Wait,” Brett banged his head against one of the bars. “Damn it, what about us?”

“You’re safer inside there,” Matt told him.

“The hell I am. I’m a cop; I can defend myself.”

Frank shoved his hand inside the top of the cage with his pocketknife. “Get that lock open and you can.” Then he pulled out his Ka-Bar.

_Lub-dub-dub._

“The first one’s near-by,” Matt warned. 

_Lub-dub-dub._

_Lub-dub-dub._

“And the other two are right behind it.”

A high-pitched shriek echoed in the hallway. 

“And that ugly bastard makes four,” Jessica said.

***

The wind carried the alien scent from the opposite direction, the heartbeats faint, but getting closer. Matt relayed their positions, calculating the length of time before the creatures reached them. 

“We need weapons,” Frank said, kicking at one of the wooden pallets, before stopping in front of one of the ships. 

Matt turned his head toward the spacecraft, it was a desperate non-option given the technology barriers.

“The aliens have weapons,” Jessica said, gripping her piece of rebar. “Let’s take them.”

The muscles along Frank’s jaw clenched. “Yeah….” His breaths rapid through his nose. “No retreat, no surrender.”

“This isn’t my first last stand,” Jessica muttered.

Matt’s lips twitched, knowing that was directed at him. 

He noted how the scaffolding ran the entire length of the warehouse with metal planks every few feet and crisscrossing support beams. Perfect. “I’ll go up high and provide a distraction.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Jessica was gearing up for an argument but there wasn’t any time. Matt flung his billy club, the cable looping over the middle beam and swinging back down. 

Holding onto the second baton, he nodded at Jessica. “Could you give me a lift up please? Normally, I’d scale it….”

“You’re insufferable.” Jessica sighed. “Come on, I’ll give you a boost up.”

She held out her hands for him. Matt grabbed her shoulders stepped onto her palms with his good leg. Jessica flung him into the air and he grabbed the beam with his hands.

“How long do you think you’ll be able to hop around on one foot up there?” she called out.

Grabbing the beam with his hands, he pulled himself and straddled it. “There’s more ways to maintain balance than using two legs.” 

“Status,” Frank yelled.

Three shapes entered from the other side of the warehouse, the _lub-dub-dub_ of their hearts faster than the previous aliens'. Their heights were closer to a human’s, a little over six feet with bulk muscle. They were definitely younger. Each of them emitted a low-electric hum.

“They’re approaching from my eleven and two o’clock. All three are cloaked.” The big one from earlier entered the hallway with a slow gait, its skin covered with the acidic smell of its dried blood. “The fourth one is at your six.”

Frank swung his piece of rebar with his left hand. “Three-to-one ain’t great odds, Red….”

“Then I suggest you and Jess work fast. We stand a better chance if you guys take out the adult and steal that damn scimitar. ” And he could help them more from up high than by hobbling on the ground.

Jessica growled her displeasure deep in her throat. “Come on,” she told Frank. “Let’s get this over with.”

The younger aliens were covered in armor plating, including down their legs, each of them carrying a curved weapon. Matt pushed himself up with his hands, bending his left leg to rest his weight on his knee, leaving his wounded leg free to hang off the other side of the beam. 

He waited until they were closer and started spinning his club to build power. On the third spin, he flung it, sending the baton into the first alien’s mask with a _thwack._ The creature shrilled as it wobbled around in confusion.

With a flick of his wrist, the cable retracted to half its length; this time Matt swung the baton to the left, then even harder to the right, smashing the second alien in the side of its head.

The third alien walked in a slow circle as if studying the best way to attack. It gripped a type of maul, a weapon similar in design to a nightstick, a weighted cutting blade affixed to a handle that the creature began swing back and forth. 

“You guys would have loved the medieval era,” he muttered.

The other two creatures waved their weapons, pacing below him. 

“They’re like damn Jurassic Park Velociraptors,” Brett yelled. “I’ve almost got this lock, man…just hold on….”

Matt ignored him. He ignored Jessica’s swearing, forced the sounds of Frank grunts out of his head. Only focus won the battle.

The aliens telegraphed their next attack with their chittering. 

Matt swung his leg out of the way and went to a single handstand, all three aliens slashing uselessly where he’d dangled seconds before. 

Flicking his baton so it fully retracted, Matt used both hands to move across the beam, his billy club swinging from its wrist strap. He bit down against the pulsating pain in his injured leg as he kept it up in the air. 

The aliens’ jaws snapped back and forth from behind their masks. They were angry, which meant their attention was on him and not Frank and Jessica. 

The hair along the back of Matt’s neck stood up when one of the aliens aimed its wrist weapon at him. But Matt lived by the geometry of angles and the speed of physics. He used the beam like the horizontal bar, compressing his body as he swung in a circle, the energy blasts missing him.

After the second rotation, Matt let go with his right hand, allowing his baton to slide into his free fingers. Hanging on by his left hand, Matt swung his billy club so it looped around the alien’s arm. Then he leaped off the beam, gripping his baton with both hands, and hurling himself toward the ground.

The alien screeched as it was lifted off its feet with the force of Matt’s falling weight. Trading places, the alien continued screeching as it scrambled onto the metal plank, the stretching cable and counter weight giving Matt the extra balance he needed to land on his good leg. 

“Christ, you really belong in a circus,” Brett exclaimed.

Disregarding him, Matt snapped his wrist, the cable slicing through the alien’s skin as it retracted. Too bad it didn’t take the alien’s arm with it. 

The two remaining creatures swung their blades at him, keeping on the attack. Matt needed to keep giving Frank and Jessica time to take out the leader and steal some weapons, so he continued to weave and duck, swinging his batons to block every strike of their blades. 

He defended against cuts aimed at his face, thrusts at his midsection. Every time he planted his right foot on the ground, pain lanced through his calf like nails through his nerves.

Screeching, the alien in front of him swung the maul at his head. Matt sidestepped it and slammed his baton into what he thought was the creature’s esophagus. Dropping its weapon, the alien clutched at his throat, wheezing.

Matt heard a disturbance in the air behind him, but he couldn’t move out of the way in time. Pain burned through his shoulder as a blade sliced through his suit and into his flesh.

Screaming, Matt tried twisting his body around to counterstrike, and missed. 

In pain and off balance, Matt didn’t hear the other alien jump down from the beam above him—

Over two hundred pounds of weight collided into Matt, crushing the air out of his lungs. He couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t get his bearings, his body pinned in place by the creature’s mass.

A fist struck him in the face, in the jaw, on the side of his head. Matt couldn’t predict when the next punch would hit, his sense of direction scrambled, the alien’s putrid breath overwhelming.

_Pffft._

The alien wrapped a hand around Matt’s throat, chittering as it raised the wrist blades over Matt’s face, drops of alien blood dripping onto his mask.

And then Brett screamed at the top of his lungs. 

***

Fresh scars marred the creature’s arms and shoulders. Frank could smell the burnt flesh from the healing bullet holes.

It knew neither logic nor code. It killed for fun, for the spectacle; it lived for death and for those who challenged it.

Speed and brute strength were the only way to defeat it. “Shock and awe,” Frank mumbled under his breath as he gripped the piece of rebar.

“You did not just say that,” Jones growled, standing next to him.

He glanced over at her, aware of her fortitude, of the power she could wield. Jessica Jones was a weapon. She and Red were a lot alike, anger under the surface ready to explode, and right now, they needed to use it, focus it like Frank did to get the job done. 

“Look at this fucker and think of your worst memories, your failures. Think about how your insides burned, how the loss lodged inside your chest sucked the marrow out of your soul, at all the god damned fury….” 

The alien’s jaw opened, its incisors snapping open and closed.

Frank stared at the creature in its beady little eyes, at the death he’d been trained to face day-after-day, his throat raw. “Remember the screams. Do you hear them?”

Her nostrils flared, her hands shook around the rebar, but Frank had to keep pushing. “Now think about listening to everyone you care about scream as these creatures tear them apart….”

Chittering, the alien raised the scimitar.

“…and think about how you could have prevented it if you’d just fucking _stopped_ it.”

Jones stormed toward the row of metal barrels, the personification of rage. Trading the rebar, she picked one up the sixty pound drums, and threw it at the creature, the barrel smashing it in the shoulder. 

Picking up a second one, she held it over her head, the alien stalking over, lifting the sword above its head to meet her. The creature swung in a downward arc, the scimitar uselessly striking the barrel. 

Frank parroted the alien, matching it step for step as it slashed at Jones with its sword. Stalking it from behind, Frank gripped the rebar with his hands and drove the sharp end into its back.

Screaming, the alien lashed out with its arm. Frank bobbed out of the way and continued driving the piece of rebar into the creature, sweat pouring in his eyes, his muscles straining with the effort.

“Finish it!” Jones yelled as she smashed the barrel over the creature’s chest and shoulders, over and over again, the scimitar clattering to the ground.

But its muscle was thick and Frank’s right arm and shoulder lacked strength needed to shove it far enough inside.

“Come on jarhead,” she grunted. “Matt can’t hold off the other ones forever!”

But Frank saw the creature aim that energy weapon from its wrist. He let go of the rebar as it fired. He dived to the ground the world tilting out of balance as he scrambled to his hands and knees. 

“Grab its gun!” Jones demanded. 

Frank staggered to his feet while he pulled out his knife. 

“Why won’t you die?” Jones yelled. She swung the barrel sideways into the creature so hard it was flung off its feet. 

There, it was vulnerable.

Frank heard Red cry out in pain and he hesitated. “Damn it,” he cursed, torn. 

“I’m gonna kill this son of a bitch, now go!” Panting, Jones picked up a third barrel and pursued the alien who struggled to get back to its feet. “Help Matt or you’ll feel my fury, Castle!” 

Detective Mahoney started screaming and Frank turned and started running.

***

Clutching his Ka-Bar, Frank spotted three targets, their armor shimmering.

The first alien was off to the side gasping. The outline of the second one was hard to spot, but not the maul weapon it held, waiting.

Red was on the ground, most of his body obscured by the creature that must have been straddling him, the only thing keeping a set of blades from plunging into his chest was Red’s tight grip on the alien’s wrist. 

Rage filled Frank’s being, hot and pulsating. Screaming at the top of his lungs, he tackled the creature, his chest colliding with its bulk, the force of the momentum carrying him and the creature to the ground.

Pain exploded in his shoulder, white dots danced in his vision, but Frank latched onto his fury, pushed it into his arms as he pounded the alien with his fist in search of a soft spot to thrust his knife, the cloak flickering off and on with every strike. 

Blood pumping, Frank reached for the alien’s mask and ripped it off, revealing its ugly mug. The creature kept its hand up; the wrist blades protecting its face, leaving the area under its arm exposed.

Frank plunged his knife into the stretch of muscle at the side of its chest. 

His ears filled with an ear-splitting scream. The alien thrashed and writhed on the ground, knocking Frank aside with one of its flailing arms. 

“Frank, look out!”

He saw a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye as Red launched himself at the alien coming up from behind Frank. Red and the alien became a mix of grunts and chittering.

Frank staggered to his feet, trying to figure out where to stab next, but Red and the creature were locked in a struggle on the ground. 

“Watch out for the third one!” Detective Mahoney shouted. 

Whirling around, Frank saw the maul come toward his head, but the creature flinched as it was hit by blue energy bolts.

Chest heaving, Frank watched as Jessica Jones fired the alien weapon, the blasts striking the creature in the chest. “Damn it, how do I turn this thing off of stun?”

Frank’s eyes darted from her to Red as the injured man managed to kick the alien he fought away. 

The bastards staggered into each other, both swaying on their feet, the third dying on the floor from Frank’s stab wound.

This was it.

Groaning, Frank lurched toward the IED he’d created, almost falling over as his hands gripped the sides. “Jones! Fire on my mark!”

“Got it!” she yelled.

With his whole body shaking, Frank lifted the bucket and threw it at the two remaining aliens.   
Then he launched himself at Red, covering him with his body. “Now!”

The bucket exploded and all Frank could hear were the shrieks of those motherfuckers.


	6. Chapter Six

Jessica held the metal barrel in her hands and brought it down on the alien’s face. Her heart was a jackhammer in her chest, her body so jacked on adrenaline she didn’t think her hands would ever stop shaking.

The thing bled from the mouth, green fluid gushed out in a puddle beneath it. But it still struggled to get to its feet and all Jessica could hear was the blood rushing inside her ears…of all the failures Castle’s words brought to the surface…she could hear Killgrave’s voice mocking her….

_….What are you going to do Jessica?_

Then Frank Castle let out a war cry in the distance.

Jessica swung the barrel toward the creature’s head when it shot up its hands. It was like striking a brick wall, the force almost knocking Jessica back. But she dug in her heels, her arms trembling with the effort as the alien fought back, the barrel shaking between them.

“Frank look out!” Matt called out.

Damn it. _No. Not again._ Because she knew that tone, knew Matt was about to do something stupidly self-sacrificing. 

Fear overwhelmed her, and Jessica shoved back, hard. And she kept shoving, the force driving the alien to the ground and shoving the rebar sticking out of its back further into its body. 

It shrieked, and Jessica felt a moment of glee as it died.

“Watch out for the third one!” She heard Mahoney yell. 

Panting for breath, Jessica searched for some kind of weapon or sword or a…. Her eyes landed on the alien’s hand. She ripped the damn laser gun from the creature’s wrist and ran toward her friends.

***

Jessica juggled and trying to figure out how the damned gun worked. It didn’t have a gun grip like most human sidearms, not even a trigger. It was just a laser muzzle connected to a metal bracelet with a weird display. 

Frustrated at not knowing what to do with it, she snapped the bracelet around her wrist, the weapon humming to life. _The damn thing responds to muscle movement._

Before she could digest how terrifyingly cool that was, she watched one of the aliens try to take Frank Castle’s head off. 

She was about to take a flying jump, when out of instinct, Jessica pointed the weapon and made a fist.

It fired.

“Holy shit,” she said and squeezed her fist several more times, striking the alien in the chest. 

But the alien wasn’t going down. She flicked her gaze from the creature to the weapon’s display. “Damn it, how do I turn this thing off of stun?” 

“Jones!” Castle shouted. “Fire on my mark!”

She looked back as Castle stumbled toward his homemade bomb, knowing exactly where he was going to throw it. “Got it!”

Castle tossed the bucket of death at those bastards and threw himself over Matt. “Now!”

“Go to hell.” Jessica fired at the bomb and dived to the ground in the opposite direction. 

Adrenaline soaring, she overcompensated and collided hard, the blast rattling her bones. Her chest ached when she breathed; pushing herself up with her hands, a sharp pain ripped through her right shoulder. Damn it.

Jessica got to her feet, cursing at the way her body protested the movement. She staggered toward Castle and Matt, ignoring the mess of green blood and alien pieces. 

“Hey,” she called out to the others.

Castle groaned as he rolled off of Matt, collapsing next to him. “Red…you in one piece?”

Brett Mahoney started crawling out of his cage with the little guy, Cuchillo, right behind him. Jessica didn’t pay them much attention as she lurched toward her companions.

“Talk to me, Red,” Castle demanded as he struggled to his hands and knees.

“Is…everyone all right?” Matt asked, sounding dazed.

Jessica scoffed, shaking her head. “Define all right.”

She stood in front of Matt and Castle overwhelmed and jittery. Did she hit her head?

“Damn,” Mahoney said, surveying the damage before walking over. He glanced at Jessica with a frown. “I don’t think you should be standing.”

“Good thing I didn’t ask your opinion.” 

They needed to leave, preferably next stop an emergency room, but Jessica knew better. She studied the rapid rise and fall of Matt’s chest and the way he held his injured leg stiffly in front of him. The makeshift split was gone and he was bleeding through his bandage. 

Jessica glanced at Castle, noticing his faraway gaze and the way his body listed to one side despite trying to attend to Matt. His concern messed with her worldview. 

“How’s the bandage?” Castle reached over to grab Matt’s leg, his hand missing the mark. “Damn it.”

“Okay, that’s it, we’ve got to go. We all need x-rays and some serious narcotics would be good right now.” Jessica winced when she moved her arm, a sharp pain lancing through her shoulder. How the hell was she going carry Matt? 

“Come on; let me help.” Mahoney reached out to touch her arm.

“We’ve got it,” Jessica told him. The last thing she needed was to worry about Matt or Castle getting arrested as soon as the coast was clear. God, when did she start worrying about the latter?

“Oh, yeah? And how’s that?” Mahoney said, keeping his distance. “Because where I’m standing, The Devil’s of Hell’s Kitchen can’t walk and the freaking Punisher can’t see straight. Not to mention they’re both bleeding.”

It was the first time Jessica noticed the blood on Castle’s jacket, probably from flying shrapnel when he covered Matt. He didn’t seem to notice or care as he checked Matt’s leg.

Cuchillo wandered over and nodded at her. “I can help, too.”

The kid couldn’t be more than sixteen years old; his eyes, though, reflected someone far older. 

“What happens inside an alien hunting ground stays in the hunting ground,” Mahoney told her. “You have my word.”

Jessica didn’t have much of a choice. “Fine. But if I see you on your cell phone….”

“I think our resident devil will know. The guy has ears of a damn bat.” Mahoney worked his jaw back and forth before holding a hand out for Castle to grab. 

But Castle staggered to his feet without accepting the help and turned toward her, blood dripping from rugged holes in the arm of his coat. “You got a place?”

“Excuse me?” 

“To get patched-up,” Castle told her. “Preferably with decent medical supplies.”

Jessica snorted because after Midland Circle, certain plans had been put forward. “As a matter of fact, yeah. I do.”

***

Jessica had one of Matt’s arms slung her good shoulder while Detective Mahoney took Matt’s other arm. Murdock had protested at first—god, secret identities were such a pain in the ass—but his shoulder had been filleted open— _what the hell Murdock_ —so Jessica didn’t give him a choice. 

They had nothing to bind the damn wound; getting the hell out of Dodge was the only solution.

Castle led the way, his hand brushing against the wall as he went, still gripping his knife. Cuchillo’s entire intent in life seemed focused on not bumping into him. 

When this was all over, Jessica was going to help close down the bar at the end of her block. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Matt asked in her ear.

“Trish is going to be so pissed at me.”

***

Fresh air never felt so good. It had stopped raining and a stiff breeze prickled at Jessica’s face. The change seemed to perk up Matt, who’d started dragging more and more as they walked. Mahoney grunted as he took more of the burden. 

Being outside invigorated Castle as well; he practically stormed toward his Chevy. 

But there was another car next to it, a very familiar-looking Impala. Castle froze, his breathing increasing, and he held up the knife like he expected to be attacked any second. 

“Someone needs a valium,” Mahoney muttered. 

“Chill out,” Jessica warned Castle. “This car belongs to a friend of mine.”

“Jessica!”

She couldn’t help the smile of relief smile that spread across her face. “Luke!”

Luke jogged over from where he’d been snooping around one of the forklifts. He skidded to a stop as he approached, his eyes going wide with what he saw. “Jess, what the–”

“I’ll explain later.”

Luke took Matt’s weight with ease from her and Mahoney while Jessica jerked open the backdoor to Luke’s car, metal pieces flying into the air from the force.

“You know it was locked, right?” 

“I’ll buy you a new door.”

Luke helped load Matt in the backseat and started toward the driver’s side when Jessica spotted Castle walking to his car. “Luke, would you grab him please.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m covered in alien guts and blood and I haven’t had a drink in hours. Please grab Frank Castle by the scruff of the neck and drag him with us so he can get shrapnel tweezed out of his back.”

Luke’s jaw muscle twitched. “You’re going to owe me more than an explanation and a new door after this.”

Jessica waved a hand in indifference as she crawled into the backseat with Matt. “And you’re going to owe me the biggest bar tab when this is all over.”

Matt managed a weak smile from where he was slumped in his seat. “Do you… know a good loan officer, Ms. Jones?”

Jessica snorted as Brett Mahoney ducked his head inside. “I wish I had a camera for what’s going on out there.” His face sobered after a moment before he nodded at her. “Thanks for getting me. I owe you guys.”

“You owe him,” Jessica said, looking over at Matt. His jaw line was held tight, the skin under his scruff pale. 

“Yeah, I know.” Mahoney frowned in concern when he glanced at the subject of their conversation. 

“Detective…” Matt said, his voice thin. He didn’t even turn his head. “Could you help…?”

“I’ll look after the kid. Now get out of here. I’ve got one hell of a call to make.”

Jessica reached over to check on Matt, but he grabbed her fingers midair. “’M fine.”

“I thought we agreed. No more lies.”

He squeezed her hand before letting it go. Stiflingly a groan, Matt blew out a shuddery breath. “I’ve felt better…but I’m not going to bleed to death...so….”

She slumped against the seat, every ounce of energy depleted. Patting down her jacket, Jessica pulled out her flask and shook it.

“I think it’s empty,” Matt said.

Jessica tossed it onto the floor and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Since you’re not going to drop dead, we’re stopping at the liquor store on our way back.”

 

***

Two months after Danny ran into a horde of assassins and Matt returned from the dead, it was apparent that their inner-circle had certain medical support needs.

Jessica had the least serious injury and that was fine by her. There was a mini-fridge with beer and she sacked out on a sofa of their makeshift clinic. One of the benefits of being friends with a billionaire was having a place to hide with high-tech medical facilities. 

Okay, maybe it was more like a loft with hospital beds with equipment. And they only had one person with medical skills.

Jessica sipped on her beer as she watched Claire hang an IV after getting Matt settled for the reminder of the night. Or was it morning? God. She really hated this. 

Downing her third bottle, Jessica popped open a fourth and finished telling Luke about the last horrific hours.

Luke hadn’t stopped staring. 

“You can close your mouth now,” she told him. “I can’t make this shit up.”

Luke grabbed one of the beers and chugged half of it before pointing it at Castle, who sat upright on the bed opposite Matt. “Still doesn’t explain him.”

“I don’t think anything could.” Jessica wanted to sleep for a week. “Now it’s your turn. How did you know we were in trouble or where to find us?”

“Simple. I knew you and Matt were going after a mysterious serial killer in the middle of a street-war and stopped paying attention to all the speed limits.” He took another gulp of beer. “And after the fourth time my calls went to voice mail, I tracked your phone.”

Jessica didn’t know whether to be pissed or grateful, maybe a little of both. She decided to distract herself by watching the medical soap opera unfolding next to her.

Claire pulled off her gloves and put on a fresh pair before walking toward Castle who was sitting upright on a gurney, an IV attached to his arm. “Are you allergic to any medications?”

“No.”

“Okay, I’m going to give you something for the pain before I remove the shrapnel in your shoulder and debride the wounds.”

Castle gestured at Jessica. “Treat her first.”

Claire released a suffering sigh. “I’m really not in the mood for your macho—”

“Shoulder dislocations are more painful to fix the longer you wait.”

“So, are infections, blood loss, and TBIs, or does a Marine not understand the Order of Urgency in a triage situation?”

“I understand it just fine.” Castle looked Claire in the eyes. “But I insist.”

“Suit yourself.” 

Claire wandered toward Jessica, eying her drink in obvious envy. “You know the drill. X-ray then a shoulder reduction.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jessica nodded at the occupant of the first bed. Matt looked kind of peaceful without the devil suit. “How’s the Saint of Hell’s Kitchen?”

“I stitched up his shoulder and leg. His vitals are stabilized, but I want to wait twenty-four hours before I cast the leg.”

Jessica bit her lower lip. “We used dirty rags to stop the bleeding.”

“Yeah, hence the wait.” Claire’s face softened. “I’m running antibiotics and giving him time to rest. In time he should be fine.”

“Danny’s going to bitch about how he wasted his chi to fade away some of Matt’s old scars.” Jessica stood up and walked toward the bed where Matt slept. “Now he’s just added a few more.”

“Some people see scars at battle wounds.” Claire folded her arms over her chest. “Others would say it’s a sign of healing.”

“Or they’re the evidence of survival and endurance.” 

Jessica raised an eyebrow at what equated to high praise from Castle. 

Pushing aside the empty saline bag, he started looking around the loft. “So, is there a radio or computer around here?”

“Got a pressing e-mail to send?” Jessica asked him.

“Naw. But I’d like to know if a military team has been scrambled to that complex or if I’ll be able to blow it up before they get there.”

“Excuse me?” Luke said, speaking up.

Castle pulled out his IV and started to climb out of the bed. “Those things have hunted here before, who knows for how long or how many times. Do you really trust a cleanup team is going to destroy everything?”

Jessica hasn’t thought about anything beyond her next beer. No. She wouldn’t allow herself to be pulled into the man’s deranged paranoia. She started walking away.

“And do you really think there isn’t a connection between those aliens and the rising gang-violence?” 

“Like what?” Luke asked his demeanor tensing. He touched Claire’s shoulder as she began walking toward Castle in frustration. 

Castle regarded Luke, looking between him and Jessica. “I don’t know, but I’m not going to take a chance that there isn’t one.”

***

After several days of being on pain meds, it felt good to be clear-headed. Matt’s place filled with the scent of sesame oil and garlic mixed with green onion and seared meat. He moved books and his laptop over to the side of his kitchen table, resting a hand on the edge to help maneuver around.

“Don’t you know the definition of stay off your feet?” Jessica called out from the kitchen.

“You’re making dinner; the least I can do is clean the table.”

“I’m dumping Chinese take-out onto plates, it hardly takes skill.”

“I’ll take all the help I can get.”

Jessica brought over two plates of food and set them down. “Well that part’s true; you’re a ten on the pitiful scale.”

Matt laughed as he hobbled over to his chair, keeping the weight off his casted leg. He hated trying to get around with five layers of fiberglass and he despised doing it with one crutch. But Claire had been insistent about him not using his shoulder if he didn’t want to pop his stitches. It made his immobility even more challenging.

Jessica sat down and snapped her chopsticks together in the air. “You were telling me earlier you heard from your detective friend.”

“Yeah, he called. Said he had a hard luck case right up my alley.”

“The kid?”

“Yeah.” Matt picked at his chicken. “He’s been charged with several counts of assault for previous incidents. The physical evidence is pretty air tight, so….”

“So you’re going to get the charges reduced for a shorter sentence?”

“I was thinking probation, community service with mandatory completion of a jobs program.”

Jessica popped open a bottle of beer. “For a guy who puts people in the hospital, you’re such a softie.”

“Cuchillo’s dad left when he was five, his older brother’s serving a twenty year sentence for—”

“Yeah, yeah, spare me the hard luck story. I get it. I’ll petition Rome for your canonization.”

He almost spit out his food when he laughed. Catching his breath, he took a drink of water. “Everyone deserves a second chance. Anyway, Foggy’s on it…since well….”

“Your detective buddy might put two and two together regarding a certain injured vigilante and local lawyer?” 

“Something like that. Speaking of injuries, how’s the shoulder?”

“Relocated.”

Matt snorted. “You’re still guarding it when you move; don’t you think you should wear your sling?”

“Says the guy not wearing his?”

Matt shoved food in his mouth to avoid answering. It was bad enough he needed the crutch to walk; the additional restriction of the sling was almost unbearable. 

“By the way, I checked the cupboards; you’re out of coffee.”

“That’s because you’ve been drinking it all. Which, by the way, you don’t have to.” Matt cleared his throat. “You know, come by to check on me. I mean I appreciate it, but—”

“You live on the top floor and have a busted leg. I know you’re capable of navigating the grocery store and doing laundry while doing back flips, but your neighbors might get suspicious. Not to mention I’m billing you for all my hours.”

He raised his eyebrows at that.

She got up and cleared the table, dumping all the dishes in the sink. “You’re cleaning these. There are some things I just don’t do.”

He got out of his chair and grabbed his crutch, hobbling into the living room to settle on one side of his sofa. 

Jessica walked toward the window and stood in front of it. “The curfew ends tonight.”

“War’s bad for business, but the National Guard would stop all illegal activity. Once the Mac Ballers and MS-13’s agreed on a truce, the police didn’t have cause to keep the curfew.”

“We’ll see how long that lasts.” Releasing a long breath, she walked over and slouched on the other end of the sofa. “Do you really think those things had anything to do with the violence?”

Matt caught himself wanting his cane to fidget with. Violence was a disease; violent acts tended to cluster, spreading from one place to another, often preceded by other violent acts. Mutating from one type of violence to another. 

“I don’t know,” he hedged. “What do you think?”

“Based on what I was able to dig up, each gang thought the other was responsible for the mutilations of their members. Add paranoia, fear, and an influx of arms, and you got an explosion of killings.”

Matt pushed his glasses further onto his face. “It certainly fits.” He licked his lips. “But I can’t help wondering if they knew what they were doing. Witnessed the rise in fighting every time they killed, displaying the heads for maximum effect.”

Her heart rate jumped. “That would demonstrate a very sophisticated and scary level of strategy and manipulation.”

“Well, they were aliens who traveled millions of miles just so they hunt and kill things for sport. Guess they preferred a challenge. ”

She tossed a pillow at his head and he batted it away.

“I’d ask you if you saw the video of the explosion that took out that whole complex, but that would be in poor taste.”

His lips twisted into a slight grin; she never pulled any punches about his blindness, and it was refreshing. “No, but I read about it the next day. Guess Frank did what he needed to do.”

“I’ll be sure to give him a thank you card the next time I run into him.” Taking a sip of her beer, Jessica pulled out something from her jacket. “Since you don’t own a TV, I guess we’ll have to play blackjack.”

She started shuffled a deck of cards on his coffee table. Matt sat up and looked in her direction. “You know I can’t read those.”

“Since when have you ever let something like that stop you?” Jessica dealt them both cards. “Besides, you really need to work on your poker face.”

“I’ll be sure to study it in the mirror.”

Jessica _hmmmed_ as she read her hand. “By the way, I have an idea how you could pay off all my services this week.”

Matt picked up his cards. “How’s that?”

“Well, I made the mistake of booking two clients at the same time and I need someone to conduct surveillance on this one guy. I took it upon myself to book a room opposite of the dude’s house. I even rented a wheel chair and everything. It’ll be the perfect cover. No one will suspect a thing.”

“Isn’t that the plot of _Rear Window?”_

“Is it?” Jessica’s breathing ticked up, her skin temperature increasing. “I don’t know; I don’t watch the classics.”

Matt didn’t bother hiding his grin at the obvious ploy; he was perfectly fine with it in fact. 

Jessica nudged his good leg with her boot. “You want me to hit you or are you going to stand?”

Only Jessica Jones would continue with such a ridiculous joke. It made him laugh. 

Matt rubbed his fingers over the glossy film. “Hit me.”

***

Frank looked through his binoculars, watching the small construction crew as they surveyed the remains of the construction site with the ATF. Adjusting the volume control his boom mic, he listened in on the final assessment. 

_“There’s tens of thousands of pounds of rumble that needs removing. Whatever you think you’re looking for, it’ll take months to uncover, not to mention millions of dollars.”_

_“Money’s not a problem.”_

_“Well the property owner says otherwise.”_ The foreman crossed his arms. _“They’re bulldozing over everything as soon as the insurance company cuts a check.”_

_“Only if and when we close our case; this was an act of terrorism. It could take years.”_

Frank continued listening, but it was waste of time. If they tried to recover the ship, he’d just blow everything up again. 

Taking the microphone boom, he adjusted controls to the frequency he’s used two weeks ago after the explosion. 

He sat, sipping from his thermos of coffee until the sun went down, but the beacon had remained silent. Ten pounds of plastic explosives had ended the transmission permanently, burying the ship for hopefully another hundred years.

After he finished his coffee, Frank packed-up his gear and started to leave when his burner phone rang. He stared at the screen. _Caller ID: Micro._

“Yeah,” he answered.

_“Hey, it’s me. Look, I got the lead on that arm’s dealer you’ve been after. I’m texting you his location now.”_

“Thanks.”

_“You know, I could help with logistics and—“_

“I’ve got it.”

_“This guy’s a ghost, man. I smell ex-CIA, or worse.”_

Frank ended the call. Rolling his neck, he picked up the duffle carrying his rifle, and starting formulating his next mission.

***

Fini-  
Thank you for taking this ride with me. 

You can hang out with me here :) http://thekristen999.tumblr.com

 

Strange no stronger feeling  
Tempting motion slows to a crawl  
Places his own foot in its own trap  
Let go the springs snap shut  
Crazy sharper teeth giving in to the jaws of death  
I taught the killing game  
I taught the killing game first  
I taught I taught I taught the game first 

The Killing Game- Skinny Puppy


End file.
